Band of Blood Brothers
by Exilo
Summary: Chapter 28, the final chapter. In which all is wrapped up, but a sequel is still in the work.
1. Chapter 1

Alright, boys and girls. Something I would like everyone to note before reading this: this is NOT a sequel to The Mission (see profile). I will recycle characters from that story, but that is because I love them and kind of wrote myself into a corner. Anyway, if you haven't read The Mission…then forget I said anything. As always, reviews are loved.

Chapter 1

Fifteen years of darkness. Fifteen years of suffering unspeakable atrocities. And though Cerberus had made them pay, though the orc slaughtered the elves and humans and dwarves and gnomes responsible for his suffering, some things could never be reclaimed.

Ale mixed with memories of agony and suffering and burned the wounds in his mouth. A soft growl escaped the orc's throat. He'd made the guilty ones pay: those who'd killed his family and stolen years from his life, but he could never forget. Every time he ate or drank he was reminded of what he'd sacrificed in vain, what that elf had stolen from him. Beside him, Pluto licked his hand tenderly, sensing the disturbance in the orc's soul. Cerberus smiled as he patted his wolf's shaggy head.

In the air, the aroma of alien races. Taff Wolfhoof, a tauren taught in shamanism, sat at the far end of the cabin, legs folded, deep in meditation. His muscular, fur covered form was completely motionless, save for the subtle rise and fall of his broad shoulders as he drew breath. The designated rogue of the four-man squad, a troll who went by the name Aloos, was also in a form of meditation. However, rather than silence and thought, his reflection involved practice of his capoeira fighting moves. He moved slowly, rehearsing battles in his mind and thinking of past mistakes he'd made.

And finally, there was the now familiar smell of an undead body in close proximity. Cerberus, as with most of the Horde, had been reluctant to make an alliance with such a manipulative and untrustworthy group as the Forsaken. The undead rogues had no doubt begun the treaty with plans of eliminating their allies when their immediate rivals had been vanquished. But, in the end, Thrall had been right in his trusting of Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Ever so gradually, opinions on both sides changed. The living races breathed ideas of hope into their undead allies, thoughts that had been foreign to them since entering this retched existence. The undead gained the trusts of their living brethren through countless displays of valor, honor, and respect. Fear of inevitable betrayal had all but left the orcs, trolls and tauren. Thoughts of eventual treachery no longer held in the Forsaken's mind.

As for the belief that the undead felt no pain, that they didn't eat or sleep or breath: a simple lie. Perhaps the mindless creatures of the Scourge, the soulless abominations that lacked a will of their own felt nothing, required nothing. But as for Jonathon Eck, a proud member of the Forsaken and a loyal soldier of the Horde, he still felt. His lungs still drew breath and his heart still beat in his chest. He needed food to live and sleep to remain sharp. He felt warmth on his pail skin when the sun hit him and joy in his heart when he saw his lover.

He guessed the misconceptions stemmed from human propaganda. The zealots who slaughtered the Forsaken could justify the actions much easier by saying their victims felt no pain, and death was merciful.

Clawing on the door pulled the soldiers to attention. The orc clutched his rifle and aimed for the threshold as his wolf tensed and prepared to strike. The undead snatched his staff and repeated the words for a spell again and again in his mind. The troll broke his dance pulled the daggers from his belt. The tauren seized his shield and hammer from the ground and prepared to strike.

Desperate pounding against the wood, far too severe to be caused by the beating winds. And now words came in a strange alien langue.

Cerberus pointed to the door. Aloos understood and slipped to the threshold as his allies moved closer. Taking cover at one side, the rogue extended a hand and turned the doorknob. Aided by the beating winds of the outside storm, the door swung opened and a bloodied figure tumbled in. It found the floor quickly and crawled deeper into the cabin, still pleading in its strange alien tongue, before it succumb to exhaustion and collapsed.

None could believe their visitor. Wearing black and red robes, with long golden hair, healthy peach skin, and elongated ears, this newcomer was undeniably a male blood elf.

The orc approached carefully. First he poked the unconscious creature with the tip of his rifle. Next, bolder, he rolled the male onto his back so he could examine the face. Curious as well, Pluto made his presence at the elf's side. He sniffed the body careful, the scent so unlike the night elves the wolf had encountered before. It was spicy and burned the wolf's nose, unlike the earthy smell of forests that clung to a night elf's skin.

Cerberus wondered what should be done about the newcomer. Blood elves were part of the Alliance, and thus he should shoot the creature on sight. But honor stopped him. This pathetic creature was unconscious, unarmed, and completely defenseless. Even in war there was certain conduct one must follow.

"We should kill it," Eck said quickly in orcish.

"Ya," agreed Aloos. "Elves: bigoted pail freaked fucks. Can't trust mon."

The orc turned to Taff. "No," the tauren said. "We can't just kill it, not yet. Besides, it may know something. Then you two can _interrogate_ it. Then, we can decide what to do."

"Alright," Eck said submitting. "I'll do what I can. No guarantees though."

The orc lifted the blood elf into powerful arms and placed him on a bed, above a blanket of furs.

Frustrated, the undead priest went to work. With a small knife, he cut down the robe the elf wore and discovered a fountain of blood erupt from a wound in his chest. The garb had applied just enough pressure to stop the bleeding, but now gallons of crimson were dripping onto the furs.

Utilizing the knife, Eck went into the wound and pried a bullet from the elf's body. More blood emerged. The undead waved his tauren ally over and told the bull to apply pressure to the hole while he attempted to suture the wound.

By the end, the elf had lost so much blood the undead doubted he'd live. He shrugged, washing his hands of the deed. "Now the tricky part," he muttered, sitting down on the floor. Decayed hands and long fingers began to glow as magic cascaded through Eck's body.

Bright, healing light moved from priest to elf.

Eck collapsed to the ground when he was done, short of breath and exhausted. Cerberus carefully helped his ally to his feet and sat him down into a chair. "I'll be fine," the undead assured. "Healings are difficult spell is all."

Across the room: Shaak, the blood elf, awakened with a loud scream. His breath roared through his lungs and his skin was cold and slimy from sweat and blood. Grief struck him like a fist to the chest, the thought of his family: slaughtered before his eyes by his own allies. The blood elf forgot himself, forgot to observe his surroundings, and allowed tears to rain down his cheeks.

Click.

Shaak looked up into the barrel of a rifle that was aimed squarely at his head. The owner, an orc, examined him grimly. "Was?" he choked through tears. "Nein bitte."

The elf's tongue immediately ground on Cerberus's nerves. He pushed the rifle harder into his head and he stopped. Slower than the hour hand on a clock, Shaak's reached into the baggy sleeve of his robe. His fingers brushed the finished wood of his wand and he carefully pulled it from its holster. Then, quickly, the elf muttered only one word. "Feuer!"

Fire burst forth from the wand's tip and threw the orc back. He landed hard on a table, the weak wood shattering beneath his weight. "Feuer!" Shaak screamed again as a black wolf leapt upon him. The burst of flames hurled the pet away.

Faster than a shadow, a troll leapt before the elf and, with a swift kick, knocked the wand from his hands. Aloos thrust an elbow into Shaak's nose, stomach, then flipped the slim humanoid of his shoulder. Shaak retaliated by grabbing the troll's shins and tripping him to the ground.

The blood elf stumbled to his feet and pleaded for peace in his native tongue, when furry arms the size of tree trunks wrapped around his waist. Taff restrained Shaak, but was careful not to crush his captive, which he easily could've done.

Across the room, Cerberus lifted his rifle to his eye.

BANG!

Shaak had been hit by arcane blasts that hurt more. The tauren let his captive fall. If it had been a real bullet in the rifle's chamber, he'd of been dead. But it hadn't been real; it was a stun round, a rubber shot. But that also meant all Shaak could do was lie on the ground until his lungs remembered how to breathe.

"Please," he managed to groan. The shot woke his brain enough for him to realize his mistake. Of course these creatures wouldn't understand an elfish tongue. But maybe they'd know common. "Please."

"Everyone," Eck shouted from across the room. "Wait." Using his staff for support, and checking the wand on his belt, the undead moved before the blood elf and lowered to his haunches. "You speak, elf? Surprising, most of your kind think it beneath you to use the human's tongue. What's your name?"

"S-Shaak. Shaak'Tilander Sungrass. I'm sorry I attacked you, but I only acted out of defense."

"Don't tell me, tell the ones you attacked."

"Can…can they understand me?"

"They know common just fine, can't talk fluently though. Course, Cerb can't talk all, not since you elves cut out his tongue. So I'd watch what I say."

"I'm sorry I attacked you, all of you," he said humbly. "Please forgive me."

Cerberus grunted and lowered his rifle.

"Now," Eck continued. "What would cause an elf like you to stumble into this Horde cabin?"

"My…my village was attacked, by the Alliance."

"The Alliance?" Eck repeated, standing up and looking to his comrades.

They all erupted with a fit of laughter.

"You must think we Horde are pretty stupid if that's the best you can come up. Seriously, your own comrades attacked you?"

"Its true," Shaak defended. "M-my village was raided by a group of Alliance soldiers. They slaughtered everyone, I barely escaped with my life."

"You honestly expect us to believe that don't you."

Shaak nodded hopefully.

"Alright then," Eck smiled, sitting down in front of the elf. Suddenly, the undead took Shaak's head with both hands and held him tightly. The blood elf tried desperately to pull away as he was pulled closer and closer to the rotted face. "Don't struggle," Eck hissed. "If you speak the truth, then you have nothing to fear. If you continue to resist I'll have to break you, and death is certain."

Shaak realized what was happening. Priests could dive into weak minds, and while the blood elf's defenses were quite strong, forbidding entrance would only confirm suspicions. As disgusting a thought it was, Shaak permitted his mind to be penetrated. He allowed the undead to see what he'd seen, to move within in him and read his thoughts.

After an eon long second, the undead released his hostage. He said but one thing. "We must tell the dark lady."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"We must go now. You fled," Eck said to the blood elf. "The Alliance will be searching for you. They'll find you here. We've got to get to the Undercity."

"No," Shaak blurted out rather stupidly. Then, calming his voice, he spoke. "Please, I left my sister behind in hiding. I said I'd be back. Please, we have to go back and find her."

"Apparently, ya don't understand ya predicament, mon," Aloos said in accented and butchered common. "See, we take ya to da Undercity where ya tell da Dark Lady everything ya know. Den ya spend da rest of ya life in a cell."

Cerberus chuckled lightly.

Shaak suddenly pulled Eck down and used him as a shield. The blood elf took the undead's wand and held it to his head. Cerberus lifted his rifle and Aloos drew his daggers. Pluto's body tensed and prepared to leap. The only one who didn't move was Taff, who stood quietly in the corner observing. "I'm not going anywhere until I know my sister is safe," Shaak said calmly.

"Your brave elf," Eck said. "I admire that. So many of your kind are cowardly pussies who rely far too much on magic. You've got some skill." He grabbed Shaak's arm and flipped him to the ground. Then, he thrust the tip of his staff into the blood elves throat. But see, we Horde are magic. Don't try to move the wand, I'll crush your throat long before you may harm me."

"Please," Shaak whimpered. "Do what you like to me, but she's just a child. She's too young to have taken arms against you. She's still an innocent in the war."

"Taff, Cerb," Eck said calmly. "Rescue is much more your department."

-----

How long she'd been hiding in this cramped little crawlspace she couldn't say. She wanted so desperately to leave, but she could sense the soldiers that pillaged her town remained: guzzling the drinks and slaughtering the livestock, and so she didn't dare move an inch. Not until her brother returned. He would return, after all. He would return with an army of fellow blood elves, and they would kill these night elves that now occupied her town. They would show no mercy, just as no mercy was shown to them.

Outside: gunshots and the clanging of steel. Her brother! Shaak had returned at last, just as he'd promised. Screams that could only belong to night elves: her side was winning. Cries and shrieks and the sound of death: all for the Sentinels. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of her brother, valiantly slaying his enemies. She thought of him holding her and how safe she was in his arms.

The sudden silence made her jump.

The front door of her house opened with a gentle creak. Her brother's voice didn't fill her ears, so she didn't leave her safety. But curiosity still burned with in her. Risking everything, and summoning all the courage her young body posed, she peaked through a hole in the floor to glimpse at the intruder.

Nothing at first but a muscular silhouette: a vast, featureless darkness. It couldn't belong to a fellow blood elf, even one with heavy armor. What could be that big?

The sun light that shone through the window illuminated the inside of the house. She noticed features above her: grey fur, horns, a short tail, hooves. Cynthana cupped her hand over her mouth to muffle a gasp. Mentally, the young elf tried to slow her pounding heart, fearful it would reveal her position under the floor boards. It was a tauren; a primitive, feral race of the Horde, and if it found her…She shuddered.

Cynthana had survived her town's slaughter only to die at the hands of a monster. She wished the night elves had found her; fore they'd of killed her quickly. But the Horde, she had heard horror stories about the Horde. They wouldn't just kill her, they would do things that would make her plea for death.

No, she thought suddenly. She had survived the night elves. This beast couldn't have the intelligence to find her if a group as cunning as the Sentinels couldn't. She would stay hidden, and when her brother came, he'd kill the tauren and she'd be free. She would survive.

A huge fist punched down a foot from her nose. Massive hands pulled the weak floor boards up so she was completely exposed to the tauren. She kicked and thrashed as thick fingers plucked her up by the collar and held her level with the bull's face.

Cynthana could think of nothing else to do. She bit into a furry arm.

It had the same effect a mosquito would have on an ogre. The tauren chuckled as she vainly gnawed on his leather skin. He gently took her in his other hand (she could probably sit in his palm) and put her on the ground. Kneeling, his superior height didn't seem quite as substantial. "Taff," he said slowly, pointing to his worn tabard. "Cynthana?" he asked, pointing at her.

"Y-yes," she whimpered. "My name is Cynthana Sungrass."

The bull seemed satisfied and went about searching through the houses shelves and cabinets. He ignored her and she thought of leaving. What a ridiculous thought, she wouldn't get far before the tauren came down on her with his entire wraith. When he unearthed a loaf of bread the greedy night elves must have missed, Cynthana's mouth began to water. She hadn't eaten in a day. Her stomach roared louder than she thought possible.

The bull smiled down at her as he offered the bread. Cynthana, confused, didn't move. Would he pull it away if she tried to take it? Would he savagely scarf it down if she showed interest? She put nothing past the beast. But, she decided a chance was better than nothing and slowly extended her hand. The tauren didn't move. Her fingers brushed the crust of the bread and the bull didn't take it away. Cynthana took the loaf and the tauren only smiled.

When she had finished the bread, the bull opened a massive fist and gave her a stone, one that had belonged to her brother. She took it eagerly and satisfied another hunger; a thirst for magic. Blood elves had developed a method of storing satisfying amounts of the arcane in small gems. When desperate, one could drain the stone of its power.

"Take you to Shaak. Not hurt, Shaak fine with us. Shaak send to find you," the tauren grunted in broken English, but the message was clear. They had her brother. "You come?"

The tauren had no reason to lie to her. He could easily force her to do anything simply by his size. And he seemed genuinely kind and gentle, and so she smiled nervously and said: "yes."

"Don't look," he said, picking her small, young body up into powerful arms and taking her out of the house. "Many elves of night dead don't look."

Cynthana closed her eyes as the bull brought her into hot sun, it felt wonderful on her skin. She could hear the squishing of body's beneath his heavy hooves: no doubt the corpses of the elves responsible for her town's murder. She giggled inside.

Her elongated ear was pushed against his warm furry chest and she could hear his deep heartbeat. She hadn't slept in a day as well; always awake and fearful the night elves would find her. But now this bull, this tauren, this Taff was going to take her to her brother and with him she'd be safe. She fell asleep in his arms.

Taff returned to the outskirts of the town where Cerberus awaited. The attack had been swift and merciless. First, Cerberus picked off as many of the Sentinels as he could. The night elves had spent the past day eating and drinking, and so were not prepared for such a sudden assault. Simultaneously, Taff went through the town, slaying the night elves that attacked him as the orc continued to provide cover from above. It was mere moments before the Sentinels who had massacred their elven brethren lay dead as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Now that all my tests are over, i have finally managed to write up this new chapter. Thank you for the reviews, and please leave more.**

Chapter 3

She made no noise as she padded through the trees. She left no footprints in the soft blanket of snow that embraced the earth. The blizzard had broken after a day of anger and furious winds, and so she was finally able to finish what she and her troops had started. She would finally kill the blood elf.

Evangel Moonbeam had plenty of time reflect on the prior day's battle as she moved silently through the woods.

She had been handpicked by Commander Whisperwind and given command of an elite platoon. She was given only one order: destroy what few pockets of blood elf life that remained in the Eastern Kingdom. So, she and her unit moved through the lands, remorselessly slaughtering what they could find.

In the past year, the Alliance had gradually been gaining the upper hand in the seemingly never ending war. And with the threat of the Horde lessened, the night elves had finally decided they could spare enough troops to crush their mortal enemies.

A chill suddenly brushed over Evangel's body. Corruption was thick in the air, a sign of the blood elf. Only his weakness could give her such a terrible feel in the pit of her gut. She had told her squad to wait at the village and have a good time; she wanted to take this blood elf alone. Her hand stroked a deep gash on her cheek, freshly exposed skin slimy against her finger.

Sungrass had scarred her with his dark arcane. Still when she touched the wound, she could feel the black magic tingle her fingers. Elves are notoriously vain creatures, and even as a Sentinel she couldn't help but become infuriated at the thought of the scar on her beauty. She wanted to kill him for what he'd done. His death was hers and hers alone.

She came upon a cabin, most likely one of the Horde's many outposts in the Tirisfal Glades. Thick corruption covered the grounds like a disgusting veil. Sungrass was close.

Focusing, Evangel allowed herself to change. The pigments in her skin subtly melted into darkness, as did her long green hair. She became invisible to all but the most noticeable of creatures. She become one with the night.

Evangel first padded to the cabin's window and peaked inside. Yes! There was the blood elf: wretched, weak abomination. Completely oblivious to the death that gazed at him through the glass. He wasn't alone though. He was talking with an undead. Strange, but no matter. She'd kill them both. They were both monsters.

Next, the night elf moved around the house in search of a back door. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks after all: if her enemies had numbers, she'd need surprise. She would slip in and shock the undead and drive her rapier through his cold, black heart. And then she'd take her time with the blood elf.

She ceased her intense concentration when she reached the cabin's blind side, and was about to burst inside when she heard silent foot falls that rivaled her own. She turned, sword held and swung. Blades clanged and locked. As the butt of a second dagger struck her jaw she cried out in pain. Her vision spun beneath her as she struck the warm earth. "Fuck," she muttered in pain.

Evangel was bound in a chair with leather belts, her hands tied tightly behind her back and an arrow aimed point blank at her head. There were three residents in the cabin aside from herself. A troll that held the bow at her head, an undead that took a seat before her, and the blood elf that leaned against the wall.

"Sungrass," she muttered.

"Moonbeam," the blood elf nodded.

"Why aren't I dead?" she demanded.

"Because," interrupted the Forsaken. "I want to know what you know. This will be much easier if you simply tell me all that you know. You elves have stronger minds than most other creatures, I'd prefer to save my strength. Course, if you refuse, I'll let Aloos do what ever he wants with you."

Evangel looked at the troll that held the bow. Behind tusks, his lips curled into a smile, his eyes beady and black. "What do you want to know?" she swallowed.

"Why is the Alliance attacking their own comrades?"

The night elf laughed loudly. "Comrades? We haven't been allied with those weak sons of bitches for years. Those bloods, those feeble little fucks who betrayed us for naga, they deserve to die just like you."

"We didn't betray the Alliance," Shaak snapped. "You betrayed us. You sent us on suicide missions. You told us to guard useless posts against impossible odds. Lady Vashj offered my people the help that the Alliance refused to give. We were crushed that we accepted but did it to survive. You left us no choice."

"You pathetic, weak little bastard. Your kind gave into magic, your addictions. At least the High Elves continue to fight against it. You deserve what you all got."

The blood elf snatched Evangel's rapier from a table, unsheathed the blade, and moved to slay the night elf. Eck drew his staff and swept the blood elf's legs, knocking him to the ground. Shaak attempted to get to his feet, but Eck thrust his stick to the blood elf's throat. "Not yet," the undead said solemnly.

The blood elf muttered a curse in his native tongue and moved to leave the cabin.

"Where are you going?" Eck asked.

"If I stay, I'll kill her, and apparently that won't suit your needs."

"Apparently ye haven't grasped da concept of being a prisoner, mon," the troll snickered.

"Where will I go?" Shaak demanded. "The Alliance will kill me on sight. I have no town to run to, no allies to seek sanctuary."

"Fine," Eck said. "But we're keeping this," he said, taking Shaak's wand. "And if you do choose to run, we will find you."

Out in the woods, the air was clear. Shaak didn't walk far, he didn't have to, just until his sharp ears no longer heard the night elf's voice. Many, many years ago, before the Scourge swept across the lands and the blood elves were still high elves, he had known Evangel Moonbeam. After the Scourge's invasion, they met again as allies. Dare he say: friends. And now they were rivals, and by the end of the night she would be dead. That's just how the world worked, he guessed.

Shaak removed a small crystal from a pouch on his belt. It glowed magnificently bright green against his pail skin. The blood elf took a deep breath as he sucked the magic contained in the gem into his body to satisfy a biting urge for the arcane. When the color had faded, he dropped the stone to the ground and drew the rapier from his belt.

He wasn't an excellent duelist, few blood elves are. His kind generally preferred the use of magic to fight, rather than physical methods. On that front, he was exceptional: possessing skills of the magi that few could match.

Shaak took a deep breath as he practiced sidestepping invisible opponents, moving slowly as not to clumsily trip over his own feet. He tried twirling the blade in his wrist and then made quick precise stabs into the air. He decided he did indeed have some skill: elven agility and keen senses. With training, perhaps he could learn to fight with a blade as well as he dueled with magic.

Shaak quickly found the practice boring however and allowed his mind to wander away, and he began to think of the events of the past day. Despite the suicide missions and impossible duties and overshadowing prejudice, Shaak had never thought of the Alliance as enemies, just not close friends. He had been proud to work alongside them against the Scourge and didn't hate them for imprisoning Kael'thas. They were simply afraid of him and his kind, he often told himself, and they had every right to be. His people were dangerous. Blood elves had an insatiable craving for magic, and all consuming lust that would devour them whole if they didn't satisfy it constantly. His kind had succumb to this addiction, as opposed to the High Elves who trained constantly to keep their obsessions under control. A good amount of the time, the blood elves scared themselves.

The Horde weren't the one who'd betrayed him and his people. They weren't the ones who'd allowed their fears to lead to genocide. They weren't the ones who'd marched into a civilian town and slaughtered the residence without warning. The Horde had spared him. A tauren and an orc were risking their lives by moving through dangerous woods to look for survivors in his massacred town.

Shaak lifted his rapier and struck the air.

Meanwhile, in the cabin, Aloos held the bow steadily at the night elf's head. Muscles were taught from strain, but he didn't show it, he couldn't show weakness. He hated elves. There were a few exceptions: elves he genuinely cared for, and he had taken some to bed based on physical attraction, but the crimes they'd committed against his kind could never be forgiven. This particular elf was the enemy, and at a moments notice, he would take her life without remorse.

"Just explain one thing elf," Eck said calmly, "Then you die. Instead of slaughtering the bloods, why not try to help them? Why not teach them your druid magic as an alternative to the arcane and demons? Why abandon them in their time of need?"

"Why not?" Evangel asked calmly. "They're weak, backstabbing abominations. They betrayed us, and if you let them he'll betray you."

Eck sighed. "When we joined the Horde, it was out of desperation. We didn't feel any real loyalty to them, nor them to us. We were simply races with the misfortune of being shunned by the majority. But they showed us things: empathy, acceptance. They looked past the fact that we were monsters and gave us brotherhood. Such a pity you couldn't do the same."

Eck placed a palm on the night elf's breast and gently recited a spell. Evangel suddenly felt very tired and weak, so much so that her head bobbed down. Her breathe came slower and slower through her lungs until her chest ceased its movements. She tried to scream or even gasp for air but nothing could escape her lips. She died without a sound.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Shaak didn't have much experience with creatures of the Horde. To his knowledge, there were five, primitive, races: the vile trolls, the bestial tauren, the sadistic undead, the grotesque orges, and the despicable orcs. They were all terrible, despicable monsters, depraved of love or honor. How foolish he'd been.

The way the troll behaved to his comrades, even that he could talk in common. He was not some mindless cannibalistic voodoo priest. And the undead, so unlike the mindless Scourge. The orc had spared him, and now was searching for Shaak's little sister. And the tauren was not some savage brute, but was clearly blessed with intelligence.

Never the less, the blood elf froze when the great grey bull trampled from out of the forest. It was not a conscious response, and Shaak tried to act normal, fearful of offending the tauren.

Strange how Shaak feared Taff the most of all the four creatures of the Horde he'd encountered. He knew the least about tauren as a race, and, like all of the Alliance, he feared what he did not know. What he was sure, was that this bull was extremely intimidating. Its sheer size was overwhelming, awe inspiring even. Its arms were the width of Shaak's body, and it stood at almost eight feet tall.

Shaak swallowed a lump as the tauren approached him. What should he do? Look at its eyes? Stare at the ground? Move to the safety of the cabin? Stand his ground?

"Shaak," the tauren said. Its deep voice made the blood elf tremble.

Shaak risked looking up at the tauren, but before he made eye contact, he caught sight of the tiny body the bull held. "Cynthana," he gasped.

Quickly, the bull gave his tiny hostage to the blood elf. "She fine," he assured. "Shaken, but fine. She strong."

Shaak smiled. "Yes, she is." He couldn't hold it in any more, he had to know. "Why are you helping me? Why did you rescue her?"

"You hunted, like us. We like brothers," the tauren chuckled warmly.

Shaak finely decided to end the conversation with; "Thank you."

The cabin held few earthly possessions: furs, ammunition, weapons, rations and armor, and so the group could leave soon into that night.

"Wa happen at da town mon?" Aloos asked, walking alongside Taff. He used orcish, so the elves wouldn't understand.

"Place was crawling with the Sentinels," the bull replied. "Not much of a problem though. They'd been gorging themselves on the town's supplies. They didn't put up much of a fight." There was remorse fresh in Taff's voice. He'd slew a dozen of the purple skinned humanoids, he'd felt their spirits depart this plane of existence. There killings weighed heavy his soul.

"Ye had no choice mon," Aloos comforted. "Ye warned dem, didn't ye."

"Of-course." Before Taff killed another sentient being, he gave them one chance, one warning to run. If they refused, then their deaths weren't his fault. Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

"And ye saved a kid, an innocent, mon."

"I know."

"Ye can't save em all mon. Most of dem want to believe we're monster, and nothing will ever change that. They're not all like Lunn."

"I know."

"Speaking of Lunn, mind if I take her ta bed when we get back mon? I didn't get to do dat Sentinel none, and a month is a long time to be at an outpost wit no women. Hell, I'm so desperate I'd take one of your cows."

"Aloos!" the bull growled.

The troll leapt back to avoid crushing hoof, laughing loudly. "Oh, come on mon. It was a compliment to ye species. And I was just sayin Lunn's got a great body. Can't figure out how she ended up wit ya."

To his delight, Taff gave a deep, warm laugh.

A few steps back, Shaak watched the tauren and troll talk, their langue sharp and strange to his ears. He wondered what they said, tried desperately to make sense of their growls and grunts but no avail. "Where are we going?" Cynthana asked. She tried badly to keep pace with the group, though her small legs kept her at a disadvantage.

"The Undercity," Shaak said simply.

"But you said never to go there. You said to always avoid the Forsaken at all costs."

"Forget everything I've told you, all right. Right now, the Horde are the only creatures that won't kill us on sight. If you see the Sentinels, or the humans or any of the Alliance, run. If you must fight, use everything you have in you. If they capture you, they'll kill you."

"Alright," Cynthana said somewhat shaken. Shaak knelt down so the child could climb onto his back.

"How much farther?" the blood elf male asked.

"Tired mon?" the troll laughed.

"Almost be there," the tauren assured. "Will stop at Brill for night, just over hill."

Brill was a first line of defense for the Undercity against the Scarlet Crusaders, the Scourge, and the Alliance. Warriors of all races stood vigilante on the town's streets and snipers watched from tall towers. The moment the team entered the city limits, an arrow dug into the ground an inch from Taff's hooves. Fearful; Shaak, carrying his little sister, attempted to flee but ran into the orc's chest. Aloos almost rolled onto the ground in a fit of laughter.

Taff lifted both hands over his head. Next, he pointed his right arm out, then let his shoulders slump. It was a gesture that any Horde knew to make when entering a friendly town. It signaled that there was no danger, and that they hadn't been taken hostage.

The group disbanded quickly. Aloos went off to get drunk. Cerberus and his pet deposited the two elves at the holding house. Eck left to see his wife. Taff departed to report to his superior. He entered the town's main hall, where he found Executioner Zygand, along with a living night elf.

For a moment, Taff forget his duty as the slinky elf leapt into his powerful arms. And he held her there for a moment tenderly, taking in the warmth of her body and the smell of her skin.

"Commander Pantherfoot, Commander Wolfhoof, are you done?"

"Oh, yes," Lunn said blushing. The tauren gently set her down.

"If you'd allow her to join my team," Taff growled.

"Commander Pantherfoot may serve the Horde best by way of intelligence and strategy. Besides, I wouldn't want your men to be distracted," the executioner replied bitterly. "Has the Scarlet infestation been dealt with?"  
"Yes, sir. We executed the regional leader as well as his closest advisors as ordered. We were going to inflict further casualties when something came up. A blood elf asked us for sanctuary. He claimed that his kind are the victims of one of the night elves' purges."

"Yes, we are aware of the current state of affairs. The Undercity has been receiving refuges for the past week or so. Contacts from Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff indicate this is no isolated affair."

Taff brushed the coarse fur on his chin, thinking. "Where is the Dark Lady?"

"She's already left," Lunn purred.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She made no noise as she padded through the trees. She left no footprints in the soft blanket of snow that embraced the earth. That was something she shared with her living brethren.

But, over time she learned that the similarities did not end there. She could still feel loyalty: not only to her own people but to the races she aligned with as well. And that seething hatred for those blessed with life, was replaced with one of those whom hated death.

Sharp, pointed ears twitched to life beneath her all consuming hood when she heard a footstep afar. Or, to be more exact, a hoofstep. Yes, he'd arrived, and it was about damn time. For almost a day she'd been in these forest, away from her Undercity and waiting for her comrades. The first had finally come.

She delicately pulled the elastic wire of her bow to her breast. Pointed ears strained for the noise and, deciding it came from the south, she set off running.

Long, graceful undead legs moved her quickly across the forest's floor, and still she made no sound. It was remarkable really. In life she'd been stealthy, but now she was noiseless, flawless in her deeds. Even the keenest of jungle cats would stay oblivious to her presence, if she chose. Perhaps, she thought, this new life wasn't too bad.

When she found him, she slipped behind the cover of a tree and watched his movements from beneath her hood. Cairne Bloodhoof placed his great maul down and knelt to the ground. The bull's huge hands gently touched a flower that despite the forest's lack of sun had managed to sprout to life. "Beautiful, isn't it?" the cheiftain asked. His question made her freeze and hold her breath instinctively. "You may come out, I know you are there."

Sylvanas Windrunner slipped from behind the tree and approached the tauren slowly, never dropping her bow's aim. "Cairne," she said, lowering her hood and letting her locks of hair settle past her shoulders. "How did you sense me? I was a ranger in life, and now my stealth has improved. You couldn't possibly have heard my approach."

"Yes, while it is true you made no noise," he said slowly, keeping his focus on flower. "You overlooked your scent, and approached from upwind."

Sylvannas chuckled at her own oversight. "Have you come with the others?" she asked.

"No. Vol'jin and Thrall will meet us at the ruins. I do not know if Rexxar will come."

"He will. This is an important decision we will make. He would not allow it to go without his words."

The tauren and the Forsaken walked through the forest at a slow rate, each enjoying the natural beauty that surrounded them. The grounds that had once rotted at her touch now tolerated the Dark Lady's bare feet as she strode. And the sun baked her pale face warmly.

"We're here," the tauren muttered. He knelt down and moved thick fingers through the dirt and grass, and finding a chain, pulled it up. The ground itself lifted as he exposed a stairwell, hidden beneath the earth.

Sylvanas pulled a torch from the wall and lit it ablaze with a quick spell. "Think they've arrived," she asked.

But Cairne didn't answer. Instead, he pressed his vast form against the wall of a corner and lifted his great maul. Sylvanas understood. She pulled the wire of her bow to her breast, stopped her breathing, and prepared to attack.

But a battle never came. Sylvanas caught her arrow when she recognized her "opponents" as the orc warchief Thrall, the troll withdoctor Vol'jin, and the half-breed Rexxar. A deep breath of relief escaped her lips. They'd finally all arrived.

In the earliest days of the New Horde, Thrall had ordered a set of ruins to be converted to hidden bunker. In the event of a severe event, such as the Alliance's new purge, the five leaders of the Horde were to meet in these decrepit remains.

The ruins opened into a huge, domed room with a round table and five seats, each specifically designed to comfortably seat the diverse group.

An awkward silence engulfed the five as they took their respective seats, until Vol'jin spoke. "I don't like this mons. We can't trust da bloods."

"Why not?" Sylvanas asked sharply. "My top soldiers have examined the blood elves. I myself have searched of dark corner of the refugee's minds. They do not lie about the purge."

"Honesty is not the issue, Madame Sylvanas," Cairne said slowly. "The issue is loyalty. The blood elves, when they were still known as high elves, were stead fast allies of humans for many, many years. If the Alliance chooses to end this genocide, and accept the blood elves back, we may find ourselves in a poor situation. The allure of returning to the Alliance may be too great, and we will find our enemies deep behind our lines."

"The blood elves have no major settlements in your lands Cairne. Well, they do in mine. I've been out in the expeditions with my men. I've seen the slaughtered towns first hand. The night elves and the Alliance have past the point of no return."

"Thrall mon?" Vol'jin asked. "Ye ain't goin for dis are ye?"

The Warchief sighed. "It was not long ago that we orcs were tainted by the seduction of magic. And when the Forsaken first joined with us, we could not trust them. But my race has overcome our corruption, and now we walk alongside the Dark Lady's people as brethren. To turn our backs and ignore the pleas of the blood elves, would be to disregard our past. But there is another reason you would like this union, is there not Dark Lady?"

Sylvanas sighed. "We Forsaken are fighting a war on three fronts: the Alliance, the Scarlet Crusade and the Scourge. They are all merciless and dedicated to our eradication. Everyday, more and more of my people are lost. We cannot hold out much longer alone. But the blood elves, they're some of the most powerful mages in Azeroth. If we were to accept them as soldiers, we may be able to stand a chance against the humans and Lich King."

"Y'all be nuts for even considering dis," the troll muttered.

"Would you be willing to spare some of your troops to come aid mine, Vol'jin?"

"Can't mon, war be going bad for all a us."

"Exactly," Sylvanas smiled. "We've accepted the blood elves as refugees, yes. But we keep them locked up and unarmed. My Undercity is filled with hundreds, may a thousand able bodied elves, and every one of them is willing to pledge loyalty to us, if only to strike back against the Alliance and the Sentinels. And just think, with their aid you Cairne can eliminate the centaurs. And Thrall, you will have aid fighting the quillboars. And while the truce with the Alliance still technically holds, the skirmishes we have is just prelude of things to come. Do you think we could fight them off if they initiate a full scale assault? We can make this the biggest regret those bastards have ever made."

Vol'jin growled, though it was clear he pondered her words.

"Rexxar?" Sylvanas asked. "You haven't spoken."

"You make excellent points Dark Lady. And I know what its like to be persecuted for things beyond your control," the half-breed muttered. "These blood elves are hated for their addiction. Thrall is correct. To turn a deaf ear to their pleas, would be the ways of the old Horde. We must not ignore them, lest we forget."

"I am not sure we may trust these blood elves, but I will follow your decision, young Warchief," Cairne nodded.

Vol'jin sneered in annoyance. "Alright mon. Ye all be nuts. But I be wit ya. Let da bloods fight wit us."

-------------

_I'm not really sure if I liked how this chapter came out. I've worked on it for a long time, but I still don't think I got the voices of the five leaders right. Well, here's my best shot. Please leave a review._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

All was quiet in the town of Brill. The majority of the undead had succumb to sleep's lazy embrace, and those that had been ordered to stand guard did their work with little ambition. It was the perfect time to strike.

Humans, their worn tabards emblazed with the Scarlet Crusader insignia, crept from the trees. They slew the town's scattered guards first; impaling and decapitating the undead with prejudice and disgust.

---

Cerberus awakened with a throbbing hand. Groggily, he tried to sit up in his bed, but realized something was weighing him down, and there was still the pain. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dimly room, he noticed that Pluto had fanged him. Ivory teeth were embedded deep into his green skin, black blood escaping between the teeth.

But Cerberus's first instinct was not anger, or to hit the wolf until he was released, as a human might do. He trusted Pluto more than he trusted many of his own kind, so instead he patted his pet's head, and the jaws instantly opened. The wolf then growled softly and padded to the window. Confused, Cerberus rose from his bed and looked down into the streets below. The sight made him cringe in anger.

---

The Scarlets moved silently through the town of Brill, individual soldiers breaking from the main body to stealthily invade the houses, and slaughter those they found inside.

Suddenly, the sound of metal striking the cobble stone ground caused all the zealots to draw their weapons. Human eyes strained through the moon light to see an opponent: one of the barbaric "green skins" or the blasphemous undead, but they could find no vast silhouette before them.

Instead, the source of sound was right beneath their nose, rather than in front of their eyes. A large bomb had been thrown just at the leader's feet, yet he stood ignorantly rooted to the spot: so sure the Horde knew nothing of stealth or surprise.

The bomb exploded, and many problems were solved by the shattering eruption of flames.

Bits of charred human skin rained through the town and disembodied limbs crashed through windows. This awakened and rallied the sleeping Horde, who burst from their homes: armed and armored and ready to fight.

But most significant, was the confusion of the Scarlets. The sudden burst of light and loud, booming noise disoriented the humans' senses. The Forsaken warriors charged through their ranks and slew many. But the Scarlet Crusaders had come to the town of Brill with a vast army, intent on crushing the abominations one last time. This battle would not be short.

---

The bars were made of special alloy, so no matter what Shaak threw at them, they would not yield. Not that he had bothered trying. He needed to show the Horde that he meant them no harm, and initiating a prison break was not a good way to do just that.

And it wasn't that bad. Taff, the tauren with grey fur, had visited him, and promised he would be released in a few days. The bull had even allowed Shaak to be with his sister, while the rest of the blood elf prisoners were segregated by gender.

At first Shaak had been alone with his sisters in the subterranean jail, but that did not last long. With in a day, the cells were crowded with refugees, all blood elves begging the Horde for protection from the Alliance they'd once thought of as comrades. Shaak met many old friends from behind the bars, and was shaken by the horror stories they had to tell.

When the battle first started, Shaak could faintly hear the clashing of steel and eruption of bombs. But he could feel the enchantments. Oh, the intoxicating allure of the arcane, black magic, and holy words. The blood elves devoured any residual trace of it rabidly.

The battle suddenly burst into the dungeon in the form of a frail, pail skinned humanoid. Shaak recognized the undead as the one called Eck, part of the original group he'd met.

The Forsaken rolled down a flight of stairs and came to rest when he banged against the bars of Shaak's cell. He was followed by a burly human, who swung an axe over his head to cleave the undead in half.

Eck lifted both hands and summoned an elegant shield of shadows to protect him. The axe crashed down with bone crushing force, but the undead remained unharmed. The human even looked surprised as the undead focused a dark bolt of shadows to consume his opponent's mind.

The Forsaken was breathing hard. A bony hand clutched an arrow in his shoulder and with a gasp, he yanked the shaft out: ancient blood dripping out of the wound and staining clothe. He then struggled to his feet, fell, got his balance by heavily relying on his staff, and took another deep breath.

"What the hell is happening?" demanded a blood elf from the middle of the jail.

"Raid," the Forsaken announced to all. "The Scarlet Crusaders, and many of them. We can use all the help we can get." The undead lifted a hand, muttered an incantation in his Gutterspeak tongue, and all the cells of the prison opened with a clink. "Congratulations, I'm deputizing all of you. If you'd like to run, now would be the time. But know this, neither the Scarlets nor the Alliance will cease their hunts. It would be wise to stay and fight."

The Forsaken struggled up the stairs to rejoin the fray. He was soon joined by rallying blood elves, the prison's population unanimously choice to stay and fight.

But before Shaak would follow his brethren, he needed to tend to his sister.

"Cynth," he said, brushing the hair from her face. "I have to go. But whatever happens, stay here. Okay."

"No," the youth shrieked, wrapping her arms around her brother's waist. "No, we can escape. We can run away."

"And go where? We cannot survive alone, the Sentinels will track us down again. But the tauren promises the Horde will protect us. He is honorable, he will keep his word."

"Shaak," Cynthana whimpered.

"Stay here," he ordered, before dashing up the flight of stairs.

The battle overwhelmed Shaak even before he stepped into the open. All around him: swords clanged and drew blood and magic burned away flesh. Shaak, as with all of his blood elf brethren, had been a soldier in the Alliance army during the war with the Burning Legion. Returning to the mind set of war was remarkably simple.

The Scarlet Crusaders were easy to pick out. Aside from the fact that they were the only humans in the fray, they wore bleached white tabards: the contrast of the black and red ones worn by the Horde.

Shaak released burning flames into a large group of the Scarlets, and watched in satisfaction as the bodies incinerated to ash. First, their clothes caught fire and their skin blackened. Next, fat and flesh dripped off pearly white bone into a pool on the ground. And finally, that white bone turned to dust.

There was something exhilarating about the fight, the amount of magic Shaak could play with freely. He felt amazing as he formed his mana into a fireball and slew the zealots by the drove.

By Shaak was not a true warrior, for he made the unforgivable mistake of forgetting his blind side, and heard the unmistakable click of a rifle behind him. He had been so engrossed, intoxicated, by his magic, it must have been easy for one of the zealots to come behind him. He had no melee weapon, and even if he did he was far too slow to turn and cut the Scarlet down. And a spell would take to long. He waited for death.

Even over the sounds of the battle he could hear the gunshot, his gunshot, the one that would end his life. And yet there was no pain. And he could still hear the battle, feel that magic that flowed through the town. He turned to face the Scarlet, and saw that she had been wounded by a bullet through her left breast. The Scarlet made eye contact, before she collapsed to the ground: dead.

Shaak looked up to a rooftop and noticed the orc the others called Cerb. He loaded his rifle, took aim, and shot a human who'd come to Shaak's side.

Faithful in his protection, the blood elf freely summoned flames to burn away the humans.

And the battle raged on.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A blue, two toed foot nudged a human's hand. When the body it was attached to didn't stir, the two toed foot nudged the hand again, slightly harder. Foolishly, the human peeked his head up and looked around, but seeing the slim troll before him, buried his nose into the ground.

Aloos dropped a foot onto the Scarlet's neck, and was rewarded with a gurgled crunch. The human also burst to life. He thrashed about wildly on the ground, helpless as the pressure increased on his neck. Finally sensing the zealot no longer drew breath, the two toed feet moved along the ground and tapped another human's hand. This human must have been smarter that his predecessor, for he remained motionless. Aloos let his foot lean on the Scarlet's hand: slowly crushing the fingers until the human let out a whimper of pain.

"Aloos," called a seductive purr from across the body strewn battle field.

"'Ey Lunn. Long time no see?" The troll smiled as he looked over the elf's breath taking body: her faultless hips, her gorgeous chest, her perfect features. Even the tattoos that marked her eyes had a unique, strangely alluring appeal.

"Have you seen Taff?" she asked, trying to ignore his wandering eyes.

"No mon. Battle be pretty big. He's probably wit da healers."

Lunn looked about, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Ye okay mom?" Aloos asked thoughtfully, despite himself.

"Yeah, of course."  
The troll stared at the night elf's shapely rump as she padded off. The human at his feet tried to crawl off. With out taking his eyes off her, he crushed the Scarlet's throat.

---

Long, slender fingernails glowed with magical bounty, as a healing spell transferred from host to target. A heart began to beat, and dead lungs drew breath. The undead soldier breathed to life as his body glowed. Slowly, he stumbled to his feet, wobbled, then stood strong. "Sergeant Eck," the soldier saluted when he had the strength. "Are we victorious."

"Yes," the priest nodded. "The blood elves have been officially deputized by order of the Dark Lady, she returned to us during the battle."

The soldier imagined Sylvanas Windrunner, charging into the fray on her flaming steed, slaying the zealots by the drove. The thought gave a feeling of warmth into his breast.

"I've returned you to life, but you will still be dangerously weak," Eck explained. "Go to the inn to rest." He saluted, and the soldier returned the gesture before leaving. Eck noticed he favored his right.

Undead lungs were violently gripped by a cough. Eck wheezed and panted forcefully, he'd fall if he didn't hold so tightly to his staff for support. He recovered briefly, but again he began his fit of coughing. This time, his staff slipped out from beneath him. The ground was cold as hey lay there, a wet wheezes passing out of his lips

"Are you alright?" purred a voice.

"Yes," he said weakly. The night elf helped him to his feet.

"Have you gotten that wound in your shoulder examined?"

"No, its just a flesh wound."

"Eck, that looks really bad. Your anatomy should've stopped the bleeding at least."

"What do you want Pantherfoot?" the undead asked bitterly.

"Have you seen Taff?"

"No, I've been a little preoccupied saving what few of my people are left."

Lunn looked about uncomfortably. "Would you like me to heal that wound in your shoulder? I know a couple of restoration spells."

"Elf," Eck snapped. "I have work to do. Now why not make yourself useful or go back to your precious tree?"

Lunn muttered a slur in her native tongue as she moved off.

---

The sword had wounded Cerberus's right arm. Had it found its mark a few inches lower and to the left, it'd have pierced the joint and the humans would have claimed another of the tongueless orc's limbs. But instead, the sharp edge of steel had slit the skin, black blood slicked the green but no major harm was done. Cerberus returned the favor by swinging his battle axe into the Scarlet's chest and cleaving him two.

The orc didn't want medical attention, but when the Scarlets finally fled like the cowards they were, he'd been order to have the wounded fixed. He wondered how much blood he'd lost as he watched veins, muscle and skin expertly sutured by an undead elf, then a bandage was wrapped around the arm. A brief spell to quicken the healing process, and Cerberus was free to leave the inn.

To his unimaginable distaste, the town of Brill was now crawling with elves. And not just the night elf called Lunn, whom the orc tolerated by order of the Warchief. Nor the undead high elves, would had been converted during the war against the Burning Legion. They weren't really elves anyway, but simply Forsaken. The elves who now wandered the streets were short and slim, with golden hair and pail skin. Blood elves, they called themselves.

Cerberus whistled loudly, and his pet padded over the streets to join him. He was about to leave the elf ridden town, when the one called Cynthana stepped in his way. It took a great deal of will power not to crush the little pest.

"Thank you for saving my brother's life. He told me all about it. Your name is Cerberus right? Like in the human's mythology?"

The orc grunted as he continued walking, but the blood elf continued to persist.

"Am I right. I knew a human, back when we were still called high elves and they weren't trying to kill us. She told me a lot about mythology. Is this your pet? That must make you a hunter? I knew a dwarf who was a hunter, he never went anywhere without this huge bear. They say a pet would die for its master. Eventually the bear did. The dwarf was so crushed, he turned his own rifle on himself. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for saving my brother. Maybe you all aren't as bad as the humans say." And with that, she scurried off. Cerberus's mouth fell agape in confusion.

---

"Drink," Shaak said as he poured the conjured juice into the Forsaken's mouth. The blood elf didn't concern himself with how an undead creature had a working metabolism, or how the sap would benefit it. The drink oozed down the Forsaken's mouth and disappeared down his throat. The undead creature stirred groggily, before he returned into dreamless sleep.

Shaak tried his hand at wrapping the undead's wounded arm, but found it harder than he thought. The bandage would have to be tight, but he feared applying too much pressure and the Forsaken's frail bone would snap in two. He was relived when a pair of purple hands did his work for him.

Shaak didn't hate this night elf; he knew not to judge a whole race based on the acts of some. She was nice to him and clearly showed disgust at the thought of what others like her had done. She had said her name was Lunn, which seemed far too simple for a night elf.

"Have you seen Taff?" she asked in common.

"No," Shaak said slowly.

"Damn it. I've searched the entire town. He's a pretty hard target to miss after all," she chuckled.

"Why do you search for him? I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"I felt something during the battle. Something that made me sick. And I'm afraid something happened to him."

"You care for him?" Shaak asked, confused.

"Yes," she said sadly, soft enough that none of the Forsaken could hear. "He's the only real friend I have."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Eck pooled a good amount of water into his hand and splashed it onto his face. He rubbed the cold liquid into his dry skin. He tried to control his breathing, but it came in rapid explosions through his throat and lungs. The wound on his shoulder was burning furiously. When he tried to scratch it, bits of flesh dripped off bone and onto the floor. This was bad, he remembered thinking, before he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.

He coughed, wheezed, as bile and blood spurted up his throat. What he'd give to return to his days as one of the Scourge at this moment. In that time, he had felt no pain, none of the agony that writhed through his body. It burned. Every breath he forced through his body set his lungs ablaze. Something was corrupting his mind. He could feel it wiggling, working its way into his every thought.

He summoned all his skills as a healer to purge this thing from him. Holy light and shadow darkness surrounded his body as he searched for what was inside him, but he could find nothing. He let out a scream.

---

The troll knocked on the wooden door until it opened with a heavy creek.

"Hello Aloos," said the undead female.

"Howdy Liz. Is Jon home?"

Elizabeth Eck nodded. "He's right up stairs. Why?"

"Well, I don't know where da fuck everyone got to. Taff been gone for a day. Cerb disappeared. I afraid Eck be gone too."

"No, he's fine." Elizabeth thought to herself. "Actually, there is a wound on his shoulder. I've tried to heal it, but nothing works: herbs, potions, spells."

"Ya mon, I don't know what it is. Lots a da patients in da inn have it to. Its weird mon, some kinda thing da Scarlets dosed dere weapons in."

Elizabeth stepped away from the door. "Would you like to come in?"

---

"Taff," cooed a voice. "Taff."

The grey furred tauren slowly, painfully lifted his heavy head. The front of his body was stained with blood, both his and humans'. "Mom?" he asked.

"Yes," said the white cow. Translucent hands brushed beneath her son's chin and helped with his burden.

"I'm sorry mom, I let my guard down and that human shoved the sword into my side. I should have remembered what you and dad always taught me."

"It's alright son, you saved that Forsaken's life with that healing touch. Taff listen to me. It's not yet your time to die."

"There's a sword sticking out of my stomach," he said with bitter sarcasm. "I'm pretty sure I'm dead mom. I'm going to join our ancestors at last."

"No, you've survived worse than this. Now get up."

"Mom," the grey bull growled weakly.

"Taff, get up now or everyone you love is dead."

Thick fingers dug into the dirt as he tried to lift his heavy hide. Failing he tried again, but a sudden crack of his ribs made him tumble back to the ground. With one final, heavy push, lifted his body off the dirt. Carefully, he reached behind him, clutched the sword's handle, and yanked it from his flesh with a roar of pain. Hot blood slipped out of the open wound before Taff was able to apply pressure. He quickly removed a bandage from his belt and wrapped his chest.

"Good," his mother said. "Now listen to me son. The Forsaken in the town of Brill are suffering from a great corruption. You must travel to the Scarlet Monastery"

"Why? What are they infected with?"

"Something far worse than the plague of undeath."

---

Aloos slowly nudged the door open and peeked inside. "Eck?" he called into the empty room. "Ye here mon?"

He slipped inside, drawing one of the daggers from his belt. The bedroom was small enough that, with a glance, the troll confirmed it was empty. But there was a bathroom, and so Aloos knocked on the wood.

"Eck mon. Ye okay? Ye wife is worried."

No response.

The troll used his theaving tools to pick the door's lock and entered. "Eck?"

This time, a response came in the form of a snarl, followed by the faint sound of a weapon cutting through the air. He dove to his side, flipping onto one hand then two feet. A staff, Eck's staff, crashed into the floor that Aloos had stood on moments before.

"What da fuck ye doin?" demanded the troll.

The undead lifted his staff and swung again.

---

The undead steed moved with a surprising amount of speed and grace, given its sickly and deformed appearance. On second thought, the entire Forsaken army acted with speed and grace, despite their infection of the plague.

Regardless, the undead steed seemed intolerant of its rider. It bucked and jerked with each opportunity. It trotted when ordered to gallop and galloped when asked to trot. Occasionally, it would refuse to move completely.

Lunn Pantherfoot seemed to have no such trouble with her mount: a lavender purple night saber. The jungle cat moved much like its master: swift, graceful, and in a strange way: beautiful.

"What is a night elf doing serving the Horde?" Shaak finally asked, after an hour of silent ridding.

"I'm a defector," Lunn replied quickly, her sharp glowing eyes gazing over the forest's lands.

"What do you mean?" Shaak asked again.

"I've been exiled by the Alliance and my own people," she snapped. "So now I serve the Horde."

"I'm," Shaak stuttered. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Could you be a little more specific? Why would your own kind forsake you?"

"Same reason the Alliance abandoned you," Lunn sighed, brushing the indigo hair from her face. "For a long time, a long time ago, I was a proud member of the night elf race. Unlike most females, I'm fluent in druidism, which made me something of a prodigy to my fellow night elves. When I was still young, far too young for such responsibility, I was granted the position of leader in a small squad. Towards the end of the Third War, my team and I were sent to the toxic wastelands, formerly your Quel 'Thalas. We were sent to purge the Scourge. We greatly underestimated their numbers. We were hopelessly outmatched."

Shaak's eyes wwere wide with fascination. Even his plauged steed had stopped its resistance, as if it longed for the story to climax.

"Of the ten that were in my squad, three of us had fallen after a week. We fleed, but the Scourge continued their pursuit. After what seemed like an eternity of flight, hiding like outlaws, we stumbled into one of the Horde's encampments."

"And they saved you?"

"Of-course not, they imprisoned us for espinoge. They'd of executed us too if not for Taff. He was the only one who would listen to me when I told them we weren't there to fight them, but rather the mutual enemy of the Scourge. He vouched for me, deputized my squad.

"For almost a year, we fought against the Scourge alongside the Horde. We lived with them, ate with them, fought with them. Some of us died alongside them.

"When we'd inflicted great wounds to the Lich King, what few remained of my squad returned to the Alliance. We weren't in Stormwind for more than a few minutes before we were taken as prisoner. You see, we broke the golden rule. We shared the bed of the Horde."

"Like my kind and the naga," Shaak muttered bitterly beneath his breath.

"My own queen betrayed me," Lunn continued. "She exiled me for doing my mission. My goddamn mission.

"I wandered around for a while. If I were to step foot in an Alliance town, I'd be shot on sight, so I lived in the goblin's lands or just the wilderness. Finally, with nothing left to lose, I joined with the Horde."

"Do you ever want to go back?" Shaak asked.

"No," Lunn shook her head. "Not once."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The walk was slow and hard. Taff forced tired muscles to move, legs to carry him through the wooded lands. The wound in his belly had ceased its bleeding, and was beginning to heal, but still hurt fiercely. His chain mail armor was dented, arrows protruded from it, but other than that it was fine.

"What's happening?" he asked the spirit that accompanied him.

"The humans who attacked Brill used weapons enchanted with a special essence. Any cut by such a blade will slowly degenerate into a rampaging monster."

Taff scratched the fur of his muscular stomach. "Even me?"

"I'm sorry son," the mother wept.

"Then we'd better hurry. How do I stop it?"

"Deep in the Scarlet Monastery, there is the Orb of Ichor, an ancient and powerful artifact. It provides the magical force behind the enchantment. Destroy it, and you may well save Brill in time."

Taff looked at the Scarlet Crusader stronghold; the Scarlet Monastery. "Sure," he grunted. "No problem."

---

Aloos caught the swinging staff and yanked it from Eck's grasp. He thrust the shaft forward, knocking out one of the Forsaken's knees back.

"What da fuck ye doin mon?" the troll demanded.

Eck slowly rose, the joints of his knee popping into place. The sound made the troll cringe. Having had bones dislocated on the battlefield, he was aware of how painful it could be. For the Forsaken to no so much as groan meant something was gravely wrong, not just with his body, but with his mind.

When the Forsaken leapt, the troll swung the staff, knocking it into a table. Wood broke beneath his weight.

"Please. Eck if dere anything left of you in dere, stop. Don't make me do dis."

The undead rose, scurrying along the ground: using its hands and arms as a second pair of feet and legs. Aloos lifted the staff high in the air and brought it down, impaling through the Forsaken's stomach and driving the shaft into the floor beneath. And yet still he struggled to hurt the troll.

"Fuck Eck," Aloos groaned. He hurried out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The troll darted down the stairs into the living room. "Aloos?" asked Elizabeth Eck.

"Something fucked wit Jon mon. Keep im here," he breathed, bursting out of the front door.

Elizabeth sat there, confused, until Aloos again charged inside. He pushed against the door as something pounded on it from the other side.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Da whole fucking town as gone ta hell."

---

The old saying, "10 soldiers wisely led can beat a hundred without a head," was something any veteran warrior, regardless of race, knew to be true. The Scarlet Crusaders had numbers, but that was mostly it. Save for their generals, the majority of their armor was poorly crafted, with holes that left vital areas of their form bare. Weapons were hastily mass produced and rarely kept at top performance. Strategy was rarely employed. The Scarlets generally preferred overwhelming their enemy and unrestricted slaughters.

By contrast, the tauren called Taff Wolfhood was smart, strategic, and careful. He wore chain mail armor that had been tailored perfectly to his form, and made an effort to repair it should it fall to harm. His mace and shield had been cast from liquid metal, rather than welded pieces, which gave them almost unbreakable strength. Further, the shaman had breathed the power of the spirits into his weapons.

As Taff stepped onto the pathway to the Monastery, a swarm of the zealots blocked his way. With a deep voice, he shouted in common, "I come for Orb of Ichor."

The intensity of his voice and sight of the battle worn bull made the Scarlets tremble. Taff moved a hand behind his back and began to summon the spirits. Lightening cackled in his palm.

"Give me the Orb, and no blood is spilled."

One of the Scarlets, his well kept armor signaling him as one of high rank, charged forward, carrying his sword over his head. Taff swung his maul low and into the human's stomach. As the Scarlet recoiled, the tauren crushed his mace down on his opponent's head. The helm broke like tissue paper, and the human passed from the world.

"Leave!" roared the tauren. But the humans would not listen to reason. In a foolish charge, they all attacked. Taff lifted his hand, the one he'd gathered the electrical charge in. The lightening suddenly lanced out and burned through the nearest human's chest. The burning power burst out the Scarlet's back and into another, then another.

As the three bodies fell, two more pressed forward. Taff lifted his shield as a pair of sword crashed down. He swung his maul in a sweeping arc, knocking the Scarlets way as if they were weightless.

More humans were coming, the grey bull could hear the clanking of their armor echoing through the halls of the Monastery. In the moment of peace, the calm before the storm, he called on the spirits to materialize in this realm. They came forth in the form of a totem that burst from the ground. It burned, seethed, with the fury of the ancestors, flaming magic erupting from it and attacking the humans as they came.

---

"Help me," Aloos ordered. Elizabeth quickly aided in pushing a dresser in front of the front door. It sounded as if a thousand fists were pounding on the wood, and it was doubtful the two survivors would be safe for long.

"What's happening?" the woman asked.

Before Aloos could speak, there was the sound of breaking glass from up the stairs, followed by the crashing of wood. Next, a flood of the raving undead swarmed down the stairs.

"Get into da basement," the troll shouted, shoving the Forsaken away. He pushed her down into the cellar, and closed the door behind her. Drawing both daggers from his belt, he turned to face the ravenous swarm of what were once his comrades.

---

The walls of the Scarlet Monastary were strewn with corpses. How these humans could have such little value for life was beyond Taff, as he was forced to kill one after the other, and still they charged. The tauren had only seen such recklessness in his battles with the Scourge.

Suddenly, a group of ten strong came bursting out of the Monastery's library. Taff swung, the hard tip of maul breaking the chest plate of a zealot. Another drove his sword forward, and the tauren barely had time to lift his shield to block.

When heard footsteps behind him, he cursed. If the Scarlets had somehow surrounded him, he'd be doomed to die in these blasphemous halls.

And yet a ball of flaming magic skimmed just past the bull's shoulder, so close it seared his fur, and crashed into one of the zealot's chest. Another fiery blast incinerated a human, his armor and skin melting off his bones. Taff did not know how the duo of elves had found him, nor did her care why. "Attack them, we must save Brill," he roared, swinging his mace into a Scarlet's head.

When the push at last failed, and the creatures of the Horde were permitted a moments breath, Lunn demanded to know what happened.

"There is an artifact in these halls," the bull explained. "One that corrupts us all. We must find it and destroy it."

"We've moved through the west wing, you came through the east?" the night elf asked.

The bull gave a weak nod.

"I worked here during the Third War," the blood elf spoke up. "High Inquisitor Whitemane's quarters are this way. Anything of value would be there."

Because most all of the soldiers had already been slain, the trio moved quickly through the library and up a long tower. There they found the Crusader elite, but the humans quickly fell by the three's respective magics.

The tauren lifted a heavy hoof and crashed down the door. The blood elf, Shaak, swirled burning arcane into his grip and filled the room with it, smothering the inhabitants in a flaming embrace.


	10. Chapter 10

**Howdy everybody. I'm saddened to say that I will end this story after the next chapter. I'm going to have to take a break because of complications from school. But have no fear all my fans, I will write at least one more sequel to this.**

Chapter 10

Orcs, as a race, weren't usually fond of fishing. There was no battle involved, no blood to spill, and no Alliance vermin to rid the lands. In truth, Cerberus only carried his rifle and axe out of habit. Then there was the patience involved. It could take hours of waiting before a fish decided to nibble on the hook. Few of any race were willing to wait that long.

Nevertheless, fishing was an enjoyable experience for the tongueless orc. A way from the industrialized city of a sentient race, Cerberus was able to get ever so much close to nature. The aroma of grass replaced the smell of forges, while the only sound was the chirp of birds. If not for the dull pain in his arm, and a throbbing headache he had since leaving Brill, everything would be perfect.

The orc had been calmly walking for a time, trying to ignore the dull pain in his arm from where the Scarlet had cut him, before at last he came to his fishing spot. The waters of the Plaguelands had been first to be cured of their plight, so now bustling schools of fish swam through the lakes. Cerberus set his rifle and axe down, and removed his helm. Then he sat down and cast out with his fishing pole. He looked about for Pluto, but could not find his pet. He shrugged, assuming the wolf had broken off to patrol his territories and hunt his game.

He sat, and waited, and thought as he often did. He thought about his life, and how as a whole, life was good. And, inevitably, he thought of darker times: his life in the camps of those damn humans, his life as a slave. And with time, he remembered how he'd lost his tongue.

When the young Warchief Thrall came forth with a vision of freedom, it seemed as though the ancestors had finally smiled upon the scarred orc race. At once they turned on their captors and broke free of their bondage, and founded a new home in Durotar.

Cerberus had fought against the Burning Legion, bitterly joining with the humans only by order of Thrall. When the strained pact between the Horde and the Alliance was formed on the victory of the war, Cerberus was assigned as a guard to a lumber mill. He was happy with his work, and was content to let the Alliance be as long as they remained behind their borders. The night elves weren't as tolerant.

One night, as the moon hid behind the clouds, as if it were unwilling to witness the atrocities that would be committed, the Sentinel army attacked with a force of a hundred strong. The orcs fought bravely, but were quickly overwhelmed by the elves on their armored jungle cats. Cerberus was captured and imprisoned.

This time it was worse. As a slave to the humans, the orcs were for the most part left alone. Whether the humans feared the orcs or felt such great discontent they didn't wish to associate, Cerberus didn't care. He simply worked his labor, and associated with his own kind. But the night elves were cruel and sadistic creatures, even more so than his own race when under the corruption of the Burning Legion. They tortured him in the name of nature, claiming the orcs were responsible for ravaging the Ashenvale forests.

For a month, he stayed in the night elves' hold, tortured daily. Others of the Alliance came and went, each dealing their own kind of persecution. Some demanded information from him: locations of bases, estimates of the growing Horde's strength, anything that may be useful. Cerberus was strong. He would reveal nothing to the vermin.

Then one day, a particularly sadistic and fanatical druid came into his cell. Cerberus remembered much about him, his looks were burned into the orcs mind. Physically, the night elf was like every other: tall, slim, with purple skin, dark green hair, and glowing eyes. But it was his voice that was engrained in the tongueless orc's thoughts. A cool, calm tone that never once broke even as he tortured Cerberus in everyway.

For this night elf, breaking Cerberus had become less of a duty and more a challenge. None before had held out as long as the orc, the night elf began to grow impatient.

On that day, he strolled into the cell, carrying only a knife. Cerberus's arms were shackled to the walls, and the night elf danced just out of his reach. The druid then called out in his own tongue and a fellow soldier ushered a child, a troll girl, into the cell. The night elf smiled in his sadistic way.

He threw the knife before Cerberus and said in common, "Do something, anything. Surprise me. And if I like it, perhaps I'll let this child live. He'll serve as a slave, but be alive."

And Cerberus slowly picked up the knife from the floor and drove deep cuts into his skin until his arm was slicked with his own blood. The night elf was unimpressed, "Come now, I've done worse than that. You have to do something permanent, something brutal, or the child will die."

The orc looked sadly at his reflection in the glistening steel. Slowly, painfully, he pulled his tongue out with one hand and held it tightly between two fingers. With the other, he drove the knife into the thick muscle. The salty taste of his own blood suddenly flooded his mouth and oozed down his throat as the cold steel pushed farther and farther. Cerberus couldn't stand but to grunt and cry in pain, but a while to save the child forced him to continue, until with one final burst of blood, he ripped his tongue out and offered it to the druid.

"Not bad," the night elf taunted. "Not bad at all." One of his slim fingers brushed through the young troll's hair. His other hand positioned beneath the child's head. Cerberus realized what was happening too late. The night elf wretched the troll's head from her body with a sickening snap.

And then, something broke inside of Cerberus, something that had been suppressed since his freeing from the Burning Legion. Perhaps all orcs have within them a rage, a blood fury. The shackles seemed like nothing, and with a pull, they yielded as if they were paper. Cerberus was upon the night elf in moment, punching and beating his all too perfect lavender skin. Somehow in the violence, the orc found the knife, stained with his own blood, and thrust it into the druid's eye. The night elf screamed in pain, alerting the guards. But Cerberus, fueled by that craze, tore through them like a wolf does a fawn.

It was not a day that Cerberus was proud of, so he never spoke of it to his peers. To do so, to reveal he'd given into the corruption, if merely out of necessity and only for a day, would forsake him from his orc brethren.

A tug on the fishing line broke Cerberus deep thoughts. He pulled the reel, and a fine catfish came forth from the water. The orc examined it closely, petted its gills, and was about to throw it back when he heard the sound of a gunshot.

He looked down at his shoulder, confused by the bleeding hole. There was no pain though. That scarred him. There was no pain.

Another shot broke his trance. Instinct took over. He darted to the cover of a broad tree as another shot was heard.

He was bleeding, but no pain. The bullet had broken through the orc's chain mail, embed itself deep beneath green skin. But there was no pain. How could there be no pain?

Something was familiar about this: no pain and so much anger. He didn't want it to happen again. No, he didn't want it. No, he begged the ancestors. Not again…

---

When he woke next, he didn't know what had happened. His fingers were sticky and his skin slicked, and now he felt a throbbing pain not only in his shoulder, but in his thigh and chest as well. He slowly stood up, using his rifle as a crutch.

A few feet away: a ghastly sight. What had once been a human female had been reduced to something barely recognizable. Humans were the enemy. Humans were responsible for terrible things done to the orc race. Humans should be slaughtered by the drove.

But Cerberus fell to his knees and begged the ancestors for forgiveness. Killing in the heat of battle, or to protect his honor or race was one thing. But that corruption inside of him had gotten lose, and that's what killed the human. It wasn't for honor or anything so crucial. It was a lust for blood.

There was only one way to correct this. The orc tucked the barrel of his rifle beneath his chin. He couldn't allow this to happen again. Not again. Never again.

Something bit into his arm and drug him to the ground before he could pull the trigger. Something powerful dragged him and held him down, forcing his grip on the rifle to fail.

Pluto?

Pluto had returned. The wolf released his jaws and slowly approached his master, no longer fearful of the corruption. And Pluto moved between the orc and the rifle. The orc patted the wolf's head, Pluto licked Cerberus's hand. He slowly stood up. They both began the painful trip back to Brill.


	11. Chapter 11

**I have good news all my devoted fans. Updates will now come weekly, every Tuesday night. I was actually going to end the story here, but I thought up a few more story arcs. Anyway, enjoy.**

Chapter 11

Light.

Lots of light.

Blinding light. Aloos groaned as he moved an arm over his eyes to block out the light. So much light.

"Oh, you're awake?" asked a voice, soft and kind. Elizabeth's voice. Thank the spirits his hearing still worked. "We were beginning to fear you'd never recover."

The troll forced his body up, leaning against the backboard of his bed. "How long?" he mumbled.

"Two weeks you've been in a coma," Elizabeth said. "For the first three days Jon and I had to channel our magic constantly, or you'd of joined your ancestors. Even your kinds natural regeneration wouldn't of saved you. Still, its quite an accomplishment you've survived. If you were anything less you'd be dead."

"Tanks," he smiled. "What been happening?"

"Well, the Scarlets had acquired some sort of artifact, a relic that empowered their weapons with a corruption. Brill would have torn itself apart if Taff, Lunn and Shaak hadn't practically leveled the Scarlet Monastery."

"Shaak? Bout time that pale faced freak did something useful." Aloos was about to stand when he realized something? "Lizzie, where da hell are my pants?"

The undead laughed, despite herself, and pulled a set of clothing out of a chest.

---

Aloos stepped out into the sun for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks out of the loop. He looked around. He'd really missed a lot.

Blood elves were everywhere. Aloos counted three at first, heavily armored and serving as the town's sentries, carrying pole-arms forged by undead blacksmiths. Then there were others: drinking in the inns, buying in the shops. Damn it, they were everywhere, like a swarm of murlocs. Only they were taller and had better skin.

He wandered about for a while, looking for a familiar face, but all he could find were the pail features of blood elves. It was infuriating.

"Cerb," he called out suddenly. The orc turned to the voice and waved.

_Aloos,_ he signed, using a langue that the Horde had developed. _You are awake._

"Yeah mon," the troll chuckled. "Sticks an stones may break me bones, but it takes more then dat to kill me."

_We were all worried._

"Sorry mon. Want ta get a drink?"

---

The two took a seat in the back of the Brill tavern and ordered several pints of ale. "So mon," Aloos asked. "What I been missing?"

_We had a few missions. _The tongueless orc signed. _Nothing large. Inflicted more casualties to the Scarlets._

"Da blood elves? What about dem?"

_The Forsaken have taken a liking to them. Many were high elves in life after all._

Aloos took a long chug of ale. "I don't like dis mon. I don't like dis one bit. It was one ting to give em asylum. Pretty soon everyone will be needin asylum from da Alliance da way I figure it. It was another ting ta deputize dem when we needed em. But ta take em into our forces, now dat we got some relative peace. Dis won't end well."

_Night elves?_ the orc gestured.

"Dey ain't goanna stop mon. You seen Lunn during her time of da month. Imagine an army of her."

Cerberus lifted his mug to his lips and drank deeply.

"Dere something wrong mon?" Aloos asked.

The orc shook his head.

"Deres something wrong mon. What is it?"

Cerberus looked away.

"Fine mon. I got enough skeletons in me closet: I got no right to pry." The troll placed some money on the table. "I'm goanna go get laid if ya need me," he said eyeing a particularly attractive blood elf sitting at the bar.

---

Aloos could get used to this. He looked to his side and at the slender form that slept beside him. At least dese bloods served some purpose, he thought. They were beautiful creatures: breathtaking bodies, perfect chests, soft smooth skin, flowing golden locks of hair. It was their eyes that Aloos didn't like: the glowing orbs that burned with such unpredictable intensity.

Maybe I could put a bag over her head, he joked to himself. One of his fingers brushed over the blood elf's forehead, displacing her hair in favor of seeing more of her face. It wasn't so bad when her eyes were closed.

Yep, he thought, laying back down onto his back. Dis ain't so bad. Could be a hell of a lot worse.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Grod was awakened from strained sleep by a splash of icy water. He sucked in foul, stale air; the fabric bag that covered his head imploding and expanding with each breath. Sound? There was no sound, and the only smell was his own breath, and his vision blinded by the damn bag.

Light flooded the orc's vision when the sack was ripped from his head. So much light: his formerly wide pupils painful withdrew into tiny black droplets. His vision came to terms quickly. He faced a night elf: tall, slim, with purple skin, dark green hair, one glowing eye and one covered with a patch. A distance from him, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, was a forest troll- its leaf green skin and beady eyes a constant unnerving presence.

"You win," the orc finally whimpered.

"Of course," the night elf said, speaking in orcish and touching Grod in a sickly tender way. "I knew it was just a matter of time. I can end your pain; all you must do is tell me what I want to know."

"Fine. But please. Kill me. Will you kill me?" the orc asked.

"Yes, but only if you speak the truth." The night elf took a seat before the quivering orc. "Let's start with my old friend, Cerberus Elfsbane."

"I will not lie."

"Then speak."

Grod swallowed as a tear wetted his eye. He prayed for the ancestors to forgive him for what he would do. "Cerberus Elfsbane is in Brill," the orc said weakly. "He is part of a special team. Covert operations. Special procedures."

"Who is on this team?"

"Four. There are four members. Taff Wolfhoof. Jonathon Eck. Cerberus Elfsbane. Aloos."

"Tell me about these creatures. Don't bother with Cerberus, I know him intimately."

"Wolfhoof is a tauren," he cried. "A shaman. The leader of the team. Eck is second in command. A priest and medic. Skilled with shadow magic. Aloos does the dirty jobs: assassination, that kind of thing. Very skilled too." The orc managed a harsh smile. "They'll kill you."

The night elf scratched his chin, as if he hadn't heard. "Is that everything you know?"

"Yes. Please. Stop the pain."

"Very well." The night elf turned to the troll that stood leaned against the wall. "Kill him."

The troll gave a smile as he drew the crudely crafted blade from his belt.

"Please don't tell Cerberus of what I've done," the orc begged.

"I can make no promise," the night elf responded as he left the room.

---

The boat sailed with a slow rocking motion, an ever-present shift that made Wonki feel sick to her stomach. Gnomes were not meant to sail: give her a train any day.

"How much longer?" she squeaked, finally when she could take the silence no more.

"Almost there," said the goblin captain, before giving a cackling laugh. He was only slightly taller than Wonki the gnome, with a hooked nose and green skin.

"You said that almost an hour ago," she whined.

"Well this time I'm telling the truth." The goblin cackled again.

"What's going to happen once we get there?" she asked.

"Well, the representative of the Horde will meet you in the neutral embassy. You know where that is right?"

"Wait a minute. You won't come with me?"

"Sorry hun. The agreement is you both go alone."

"But this is the Horde. They won't honor the agreement," she pleaded. "There's probably a dozen of them waiting for me. You can't just send me to die!"

"Then I bet you're kicking yourself since your working for the _good guys_ now. By the way, I'm goanna need your wand."

"What?"

"No weapons, no back up. That's the rule."

"No," she pleaded. But he was unyielding. He folded thin arms across his chest until slowly the gnome took the wand from the baggy sleeve of her robe and gave it to the goblin.

It was another half hour before the ship slid to a halt in the dock of Booty Bay. Wonki shakily stepped out and onto the pier, struggling with her stomach not to puke. "We'll be here once you're done. Good look," the goblin snickered.

Quick as she could, Wonki made her way to the embassy of Booty Bay: one of the few places in the world where a member of the Horde and a member of the Alliance could meet on friendly terms. "Friendly," she laughed to herself. "I'm going to die."

She took a deep breath as she pushed her small form through the embassy's threshold. Her eyes widened. A gasp escaped her throat. "Oh thank the light it is you," she breathed.

"Been along time mon," Aloos laughed.

"Too long," she squeaked. "How is everyone? Cerb still got no tongue?"

"Yep. But how bout yours? Rendal still as delicious as ever?"

"Actually she had a few disagreements with our superiors. She left the Alliance forces about a year ago."

"Dat suck mon," she said. When he shook his head in disgust, his crimson pony tail brushed through the air. "Thirsty?" He crossed the barren room to a chest of draws, where hee pulled out a bottle of strong smelling liquor and two cups. He offered a full mug to the gnome, who took it cautiously. The troll threw his head back and drank down the burning vodka with a loud gulp. "Now mon, time for business. Da bloods ave formerly joined da Horde. Any attacks on em will be taken personally, ya get it? It'll be acts a war."

Wonki brushed the pink hair from her eyes. "Do you understand what this will mean? The night elves won't stop. It was bad enough when you took in the Forsaken…"

"Da Forsaken have acted wit valor an bravery," the troll said sharply. "Ya didn't seem ta mind when Eck saved ye life."

"Yes, but I'm not as open minded as the rest of the Alliance, just as you and your team aren't as accepting as the rest of the Horde. Al, things have been strained between our two factions. This could damn near be the stray that breaks the horse's back. This could lead to war."

"We ain't got a choice mon," the troll said, shrugging. Relationships will collapse eventually. Dis way we gots a new ally at least. War will come. Its inevitable." He sighed. "And don't call me Al. Dat's a damn human name."

Wonki laughed. "Sorry. There isn't anything you could do to try and convince your superiors differently right, this blood elf thing?"

"I'm a soldier mon."

"You got a night elf inducted into your team: that would take a lot of power."

"First, Lunn is Taff's mate. He's da one who got her on da Horde. Second, she stays cause she's valuable in intelligence. She stays cause she's useful."

"Al, this will lead to war. Do you understand? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon."

Aloos took a chug of liquor. "Good bye mon," he smiled. "If we never see again."

"Well see each other again," the gnome assured. "I just pray its not on the battlefield.

"Ah, don't worry. When dat day comes, I'll make it quick."

---

Wonki and Aloos shook hands before departing. The gnome scurried off, disappearing into the swarms of various races. The troll was on his way to retrieve his raptor from the stables when he was greeted by an elf: tall, slim, with purple skin, dark green hair, one glowing eye and one covered with a patch.

"Aloos?" the elf asked. "Are you Aloos?"

"Yes," the troll said with suspicion. "I know ye mon?"

"Could you give a message to your associate, Cerberus Elfsbane?" he asked, ignoring the question.

Aloos placed a hand on the dagger kept in the sheath at the back of his belt. The other rested near the handle of his sword. "What be da message?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Taff gave a heavy yawn when he woke and sat up in his bed. He scratched at the coarse grey fur that covered most of his form, scratched his chest and ribs and belly and neck. He stood up, his hooves banging on the wooden ground, the wooden ground cracking and yielding slightly beneath his weight. He knew he didn't have to fear waking the elf that shared his bed. By nature Lunn was nocturnal and a sound sleeper. Nothing short of a full-scale invasion would rouse her from slumber.

The bull went down a flight of stairs, he resided in a two story house in the town of Brill. In the kitchen, he ate a dozen scrambled eggs and drank down a mug of spring water. It would be a long day; he would need his strength.

He spent the next half-hour grooming. He bathed first, washing away the scents of the previous night. Then he brushed his fur thoroughly until it had obtained a slight grey sheen and polished and sharpened his horns. He dressed in an oversized, bleached white button shirt and a pair of black cloth pants. As he examined his appearance in the mirror, he cringed a little.

This was not him. These were not his clothes, his groomed fur, his polished horns. This was a guise he was forced to take every few weeks, when he was given orders by a bureaucratic undead worm: Executioner Zygand.

Taff was quick to make his way to the town hall. He was fearful that Aloos or Cerb or even Eck would see him in this apparel and never let him live it down.

"Executioner Zygand," the grey bull saluted. Many, many of the Forsaken had been human and high elf soldiers in life. Into this new existence, they carried with them their customs. Much to Taff's annoyance, he was forced to stand at attention until his superior returned the salute.

"Commander Wolfhoof," the undead acknowledged, returning the salute.

"You requested my presence?"

"Yes. It is high time we discuss the addition to your team."

"An addition?" the tauren growled suspiciously. "I did not request any addition."

"No you didn't. Regardless. The Dark Lady has ordered an integration of all Forsaken forces with those of the blood elves, your team is no exception."

"My team is not of the Forsaken. We are in service to the entire Horde." He then added the necessary "sir" as an after thought.

"You and your team are under my command for the time, Wolfhoof. You will do as ordered."

Taff growled softly as the undead continued to talk. Oh how he hated this. It'd been six months ago that he and his team were sent into the Easter Kingdom, to aid the Forsaken in their wars with both the mindless Scourge and the zealous Scarlet Crusaders. He didn't mind the missions, he forced himself to stomach the assassinations and slaughters. But it was dealing with these bureaucrats that burned on his nerves. Zygand had been a fine warrior once. He had served in the Alliance armed forces, and after succumbing to the plague, rose through the ranks of the Forsaken army. But that was long ago. He had forgotten what it was like to be a soldier: to be behind enemy lines, outnumbered and relying on a mismatched group to save your life. All he could think about were politics.

"That is all commander. The addition to your team has been decided."

"That is not all sir." The bull looked angrily at the Forsaken. "You send my team and I on nearly impossible missions, assignments that would take a small army to complete otherwise. And we perform them, and allow you to take the credit."

"Do you have a point commander?"

"My team is able to do these often times suicidal missions for three reasons. We are small, we are skilled, and we trust each other. Add another into that equation, and we will fail. Do you understand?"

"Commander, it will not look good if one of our most successful units refuse to integrate."

"Are you listening!" the tauren roared loudly.

"You mistake this as a debatable matter, commander. That is all."

It happened quickly. The tauren lifted a heavy arm and punched it down into the Executioner's desk, shattering the wood down the middle. "No, Zygand, that is not all. I refuse to put my team in danger by having an untrained recruit. You will send me and this new one on a mission, and I will evaluate him. If and only if he meets my standard, will he join my team. If you disagree, I will use every ounce of the power I've accumulated over the years to have you exiled, or worse."

Taff didn't like violence. Death weighed heavy on his soul. But the choice of one of his men or some bureaucratic little, he would chose the former. He knew that, as did the Forsaken.

The Executioner looked almost frightfully at the tauren. "Perhaps it would be good for you to evaluate the recruit. But, a blood elf will join your team."

"If he is on par with my standards."

---

By the time Taff made it back to his home and changed into more casual attire, his team was in the living room. Or rather, most of his team. "Where the hell is Aloos?"

"He never returned from the ambassador mission in Booty Bay," Eck hissed.

"That was like a damn week ago."

"It's a long trip. Besides, Aloos isn't the most focused of individuals."

Taff drew the blinds and bolted the door. "Zygand, for all his infinite wisdom, is adding a blood to our team."

Cerberus grunted. _A blood? Damn._

"No choice in the matter. Zygand is also sending me on an assignment. Some tensions are rising in a far off land. The blood and I will be traveling there to keep the peace."

_What lands?_

"I don't know. A place I've never heard of. Desotate or something."

"Only you and the blood?" the undead hissed.

"You will come as well Eck. Cerb, I need you to stay here, keep an eye on things. Wait for Aloos."

_Why? I can aid you well._ he signed, almost offended by the order.

"Just trust me on this. The ancestors speak of you finding peace. I do not know what they mean."

_Peace?_ he asked.

---

A day later: Taff, Eck, and the blood elf called Shaak Ti'lander Sungrass left the town of Brill, their respective mounts loaded with the supplies required for many days of travel. Lovers embraced. Brothers promised their little sisters they would return soon.

Lunn padded to Taff, and they both embraced lovingly. "Keep an eye on Cerberus," he whispered into her pointed ear as he held her close. "Do not let him see you, but do not let him out of your sight."

With that, he set her back down and mounted his kodo, as if nothing had happened.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"We have a runner coming in fast," Christopher Bailey said, his glowing eyes peering through a pair of binoculars.

Michael Fried lifted his crossbow.

"North by northwest three clicks. Sector three," Bailey continued. "One rider on an armored steed."

"Human," Fried asked. He was still finding the target.

"Looks like a troll. Could be Commander Aloos."

"Has he given the signal?" The sniper found the target, the crosshairs over his scope over the rider's skull.

"No, he is coming in fast. He maybe be being chased."

"Or this may be a trick. Humans are not above using glamour to infiltrate our ranks. Protocol requires a warning shot." Fried took careful aim, first moving the crosshairs over the rider and horse, then to where the horse would move next. His bony finger pulled the trigger and he let the arrow soar.

Through his scope, he watched the horse rear and throw the rider off its back: he landed several feet forward and the steed fleed. Keeping his bow trained on the rider, Fried allowed him to rise.

"WHAT DA FUCK ARE YE MOTHER FUCKERS FUCKING DOIN? I'M FUCKIN WOUNDED AND YOU MOTHER FUCKERS HAVE DA FUCKIN NERVE TA FUCKIN FIRE AT ME. WHAT DA FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! I'M GOANNA COME OVER DERE AND FUCKIN KICK YOUR UNDEAD ASSES, EVERY LAST MOTHER FUCKIN ONE OF YE."

"That's Commander Aloos," Fried nodded.

---

Aloos lay on his back as Elizabeth and Lunn loomed over him. From his vantage, he had an excellent look at both gorgeous creatures' cleavage: the pale and purple breast respectively.

"Your eye has been completely cut out," the undead noted. "The wound was then seared, most likely by heated metal. This doesn't look like the work of any type of magic." She sighed. "Aloos, there's nothing that can be done: no spell, no surgery. Your eye is lost forever."

The troll sat up and patted her shoulder. "No problem. I gots one good one still. I can still see an I can get dat cocksucker dat done dis."

After Lunn had examined his wound as well, she handed him a leather eye patch. "You may have some difficulties in depth perception and compensation," she explained. "I wouldn't advise taking any mission for a while."

Aloos examined his appearance in a mirror, the patch now covering his wounded eye. "I think I look damn sexy. I shoulda started wearing dis a long time ago."

There was a knock on the door and Cerberus entered.

"Aye mon, check it out. I figure I be getting a purple heart pretty soon."

Cerberus gave a slight chuckle. He took a seat at the side of the bed. _What happened?_ he signed.

"Ah, dis pasty faced, purple faced, pretty boy, tree huggin, panther humping, long eared, lanky night elf fuck attacked me. Uh, no offence Lunn."

The druid rolled her glowing eyes.

"Ah, anyway, dis one-eyed prick-"

"One eyed?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, he had one eye. So dis one eyed elf comes up to me an asks me name. So I tell him and next thing I know some bastard shoots me. Tranquilizer dart I think. I was fuckin out."

"Then what," Lunn asked.

Aloos paused as if in deep, deep thought. "Its weird mons. Next thing I know, I'm in da middle of da forest wit a horse an me eye hurts like hell. Well, ye know, where mi eye used ta be. I wasn't even awake when he cut it out. Guys a prick in torture."

_What exactly did he say?_ Cerberus asked. _Before you were shot?_

"He asked, he asked if I could give a message Cerb. Dat was all. He didn't give me any message ta give."

Lunn's pointed ears perked and she stole a glance at the orc. He was visibly distraught by the trolls word, how interesting.  
That night, when he mounted his wolf and rode out of Brill, Lunn followed closely behind as a panther: invisible in the forest's darkness and tall grass.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Booty Bay.

Cerberus hadn't been there for years.

He didn't like it: the inevitable close proximity with the races of the Alliance, especially when it was forbidden to kill them. At his heart, in his mind, he was a sniper: always on the outside looking in. Not to say he was cowardly, or couldn't survive in a close quarters brawl. He was simply best at discretion, not unlike Aloos.

Aloos, the reason he was here. And that little troll girl who Cerberus didn't even know the name of. This was about revenge.

He was sure to drop his mount in the stables and check his weapons with the guards, he wouldn't want any trouble with the local authorities. No, he was looking for an encounter with a different force of the universe.

So he asked around the city, spoke with the merchants and guards to see what he could find. Goblins were amazing creatures, despite standing approximately three feet tall with scrawny little bodies virtually void of muscle mass. About the only thing they had in common with an orc was their green skin tones.

But goblins were remarkably intelligent creatures, on par with the Alliance's gnome vermin. They built the most amazing of mechanics. Further, they were fluent in most all langue. Of course they knew the staple: orcish and common, but they also knew the more obscure of tongue, even the sign langue developed by the Horde.

_What happened here, about five days ago_, Cerberus signed.

Dib Goldtooth gave a loud laugh. "Ah, my memories a little fuzzy," he said in a piercingly high voice.

The tongueless orc sighed as he dropped a gold coin on the table.

"Oh yeah," the goblin snickered. "Its all coming back to me now. This night elf wanted no one to be guarding the embassy. Paid a great deal of gold to keep the guards _busy_."

_I know that, who was he?_

"Oh, you know, all these elves look alike."

Cerberus placed two more golden coins onto the table.

"Right, now I remember," Dib snickered. "His name was Pantherfoot. Claudane Pantherfoot."

Cerberus's eyes widened. _Pantherfoot?_

"Yeah, Claudane Pantherfoot, that was his name. In fact, he told me to tell you his name, it was weird."

The orc placed a final coin on the table before he turned and left. When the door closed behind him, Dib took out a communicator from his desk draw. "Elfsbane just left," the goblin said into the machine. Then he hung up, and went about his business.

---

Three trolls, Cerberus noted. Not of the Darkspear Tribe, not like Aloos. Instead they were of the forest: green skinned. He had expected elves, but no matter. The plan would work, given time, so Cerberus feigned ignorance. He allowed the trolls to believe they moved with out his notice, and he casually wandered into one of Booty Bay's dark, secluded allies.

There, the trolls made their move. One with a Mohawk leapt upon his back. Cerberus easily shifted his weight and threw the troll over his shoulder and onto the ground. The second forest troll, this one's face marked with war paint, dashed at the orc, who easily side stepped and then threw a punch into his opponent's head. The troll stumbled back, dazed.

Cerberus was about to crush Mohawk's skull beneath a boot, but caught himself, he couldn't kill one just yet. So instead he brought his foot down slowly, giving the troll time to roll to his feet.

The one with a painted face came at Cerberus with a knife. The orc allowed the blade to knick his chest slightly, then roared as if the pain were unimaginable. He feigned disorientation, attempted to run. But the third grabbed his legs and he tumbled to the ground.

Mohawk and Face-paint piled on top of Cerberus, and he simply did nothing to fight back. He feigned defeat, feigned death, and lay on the ground as the third one prepped a syringe.

As the needle pushed into the orc's neck and his eyes grew heavy, he had to force himself not to smile.

All part of the plan.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Cerberus woke.

He blinked white much from his eyes and yawned, the drugs finally loosing their grip.

He brushed thick fingers over his shirt, pants, and boots. His captors had searched him for any hidden weapon, taken his survival knife as well as a primary set of lock picking tools.

Cerberus groaned as he stuck a finger down his throat. Black, sticky bile lurched up his throat and onto the ground, spreading out over the floor. Cerberus picked a small leather sack out of the bile.

He had learned a few tricks from Aloos: predominately how to pick a security device. The door to his cell had a gnome lock, an electrical lock, notoriously difficult to open by brute force. But, like the creatures who made them, the locks were flawed. The door was opened by swiping a card through a reading mechanism. A sharp metal point inserted into the swipe would disrupt the circuit and unlock the door. His captors had never guessed a simple orc would know anything of engineering. By contrast, Cerberus had been taught gnome production. Despite his feeling for the three feet tall creatures, he had to admit they designed quite useful things.

He removed the small metal pick from its leather wrapping and inserted it into the swipe mechanism. It sparked and the lock clanked. With a heavy push, Cerberus was able to pry the door open.

Outside, there was but one forest troll: lying against a wall. His head bobbed in rhythm with his shoulders and his eyes was closed slightly. Cerberus would've laughed if he didn't fear it may awaken the sleeping troll.

Slowly, the orc extended a hand and slipped the rifle from the forest troll's grasp. When it was safely in his grip, Cerberus struck the troll in the roof of his head with the butt of the rifle. He then took the troll by the legs and dragged him into the cell.

---

"How could you?" Lunn whimpered. "How could you let them?"

"How could I?" Claudane asked. "How could you serve the Horde? How could you spit on every Sentinel who died in battle?"

"They betrayed me," Lunn snapped. "All of you, all of you hypocritical bastards. I'm not the traitor here. And what of you? Working with this." She gestured to the dark troll who walked behind her and the forest troll at her side. "How could let them?"

Claudane turned and struck his sister across the jaw. The shock, more than the force, caused her to tumble to the ground. The dark troll took a clump of her hair and lifted her to her feet.

"Enough," Claudane said. He opened the door of the cell that held Cerberus, only to find an unconscious troll inside.

A gunshot rang, and the forest troll who stood beside Lunn fell, a gaping bullet hole through his heart.

The dark troll lifted Lunn by the throat and used her as a shield, her feet dangled helplessly beneath her.

She saw Cerberus holding a rifle, the muzzle smoking. Not only had he escaped, but he'd procured a weapon! But she was still her own brother's hostage.

"Seem familiar?" Claudane asked.

Cerberus didn't answer. He steadied the rifle, the muzzle pointed directly at Lunn. She stiffened.

Cerberus squeezed the trigger gently, and the rifle let out a roar. The bullet sailed through the air, finding its mark in the dark troll's skull. He fell, and Lunn fell as well, the troll's foul blood spraying her face. Otherwise, she was alive, but pinned helplessly beneath the dark troll's corpse.

Cerberus fired again, this time Claudane his target. But the night elf lifted a dagger, deflecting the bullet with skill that was only available to his kind. He spun the dagger gracefully, grabbed the blade nimbly in two fingers, and threw it. Cerberus lifted his rifle: the butt catching the soaring blade. Cerberus raised is rifle and fired, but Claudane had disappeared. So the orc gave chase.

Around the corner, the hallway continued. So did Cerberus. Then finally it opened into a large room. The only noise came from an electrical generator that powered this complex.

Cerberus skimmed the room, looking through the rifle he'd torn from a forest troll's hands. He feared killing this night elf would prove more difficult to defeat.

Footsteps behind him! Cerberus turned, weapon drawn, but saw nothing.

Something sharp drove into his shoulder, and he lost grip of his rifle. It fell to the ground, making a loud clank. He twisted around as Claudane made another sweep with his dagger. Cerberus leaned back, the tip of the blade barely missing him.

The orc punched a right hook, his huge fist colliding with the elf's head. His left fist came up into the elf's chin, knocking him back.

Claudane brushed his bleeding lip and laughed. He lunged forward, swiping strategically with his blade. Cerberus lifted his arm to protect his face. The knife cut deep into him until his skin was painted a sickly black. The elf then extended his leg out, kicking the orc in the stomach.

Cerberus doubled over, winded. Claudane brought his blade down, intent to drive it into the back of the orc's skull. The only thing stopping his victory, was the orc's hand. He lifted his open fist and allowed the blade to drive deep into his left palm. Then he lifted the night elf onto his shoulder and rammed into a wall. Claudane gave a yelp of pain, the orc's shoulder driving deep into the elf's gut. Cerberus backed away, and repeated the assault.

The night elf brought a knee up to the orc's chin to free himself from the hold. He landed on the floor to groan in pain: clutching his stomach. Claudane swallowed the agony and ran forward: extending his arm out, parallel to the ground. He knocked Cerberus down as he ran past.

Utilizing a great deal of agility: the night elf ran up the closest wall. Taking four steps into the air, he leapt off the wall and flipped. Claudane's intent was to land onto his opponent: dropping his knee onto the orc's neck or skull. Such a blow would not only be fatal: but provide an agonizing death.

At the last moment, Cerberus was able to roll onto his side. It was too late for the night elf to change his position. His knee collided with the stone floor: the bone and muscle shattering under the force.

The pain was an explosion that rattled up his thigh and paralyzed his whole body.

Cerberus had all the time in the world to get to his feet. He kicked the night elf onto his belly. Next, he grabbed his opponent by the belt and his hair. Shifting his weight, Cerberus threw the night elf into the electrical generator.

There was a bright, blinding flash of light. The night elf let out a shriek of pain. His pale lavender skin blackened and charred. His hair caught flame. His flesh burned off white bone and formed a slimy pool on the ground.

Cerberus groaned. His knees gave way and he hit the ground hard, blood spurting out of his badly damaged arms. He removed and tore his shirt, then wrapped his wounds as best he could. In moments, the cloth was soaked black and he began to feel woozy.

Footsteps behind him. Too light, to soft to be a trolls, at least the one in the service of the now deceased night elf. Lunn came into his vision. Her gentle hands glowed and healed his wounds. Then she moved and helped the orc to his feet.

_Are you alright?_ he signed, struggling to lift his arm.

Lunn turned her gaze, as if she couldn't bare to face the orc. "Yes," she said.

And though he knew she lied, he was too weak to question her any further.

**Dear devoted fans,**

**This may be the last update for a while. I am truly sorry, but with finals for school, a part time job, and various other responsibilities, I can not justify writing about zombie priests; biped, anthromorphic cows; magic addicted elves; and half men/half horses. I will pick up the story some time in the middle of July, if not earlier. Until then, I hope you all will wait.**

**-Wolf**


	17. Chapter 17

_Oh, shit. I forgot about this story. (Laughs awkwardly) Tanthaturialis, thank you for reminding me about my prior obligations. In honor of this momentous occasion, I would advise listening to "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. I'll wait…Done? Okay, on with the story._

Chapter 17

Desolace was hot.

No, Shaak corrected himself. Hot was not a proper term. As blisteringly searing as the pits of the Blackrock Depths. Yep, that sounded better.

Shaak pulled his makeshift cloak farther over his face. When he had set out on this mission, he was dressed in an elaborate crimson robe; common apparel for his kind. He had worn that in the Plaguelands, when the temperature could shift from bitter cold to blazing heat with a single step. After entering the stable climate of Desolace, the blood elf quickly draped his extravagant robe over his ears, as to protect his pale sensitive skin from the burning sun.

Shaak wondered how a tauren could tolerate such heat. The grey bull was dressed in heavy chain armor, as well as a black and red cotton tabard that signified his unit and rank within the Horde's forces. Aside from the artificial coverings, he was covered in a blanket of coarse grey fur that Shaak would think unbearable.

Taff Wolfhoof pulled on the reigns of his mount, and the great beast ground to a halt. As far as Shaak could tell, a kodo was a little more than a huge quadruped lizard. If the blood elf were to stand beside it, his ears would just clear it's humped back.

The grey bull pulled a canteen made of a stitched goat's stomach. Holding the container roughly a foot from his lips, he poured the fluid down his gullet. By now Shaak had ridden to his side and stopped the undead steed. The grey bull leaned down to his side and offered the blood elf the canteen. Unsure, he shook his head; no.

"You should drink," Eck hissed, joining the two. He had been bringing up the rear of the small squad. "You are of no use to us dehydrated."

Reluctantly, the blood elf took the canteen and drank down a chug of water. It tasted foul, stale and rank, and yet refreshing to a parched throat.

Taff looked about, surveying the landscape. "We should camp for the night. The sun set soon, desert nights cold."

"Yes," hissed the Forsaken, climbing off his undead horse.

---

The tauren was correct. The fiery sun soon set and frost bitten winds reigned over the barren landscape. Again, Shaak found his elaborate robes useless, as they didn't protect him from bitter chills.

Quickly, the blood elf gathered a few dried twigs and sticks from the ground and piled them together. A quick flame spell ignited the mound.

Taff and Eck soon joined around the campfire. The tauren extended both hands over the dancing flames, apparently he couldn't tolerate the cold as well as the heat. If the undead was bothered, he didn't show it.

Eck traced a path on a map with a bony finger. "We should be able to reach the village by noon tomorrow," he explained. "Provided we keep a good pace."

"Good," grunted Taff. "Something does not feel right."

Indeed, something was amiss in the landscape, though it was only Shaak who could truly feel it. He could taste some sort of strange magic in the air, for its presence made every inch of his skin tingle.

"Commanders," he said, formally addressing his superiors.

"You need not call us that," Taff smiled.

"I can sense something," he said.

"What do you mean?" Eck asked.

"My kind can sense magic. Every kind gives off a different…a different _taste_."

"And what does this taste like?" the grey bull asked.

"It tastes almost like your shamanism," he responded. "An earthy and natural flavor."

Then he felt it; all of nature's arcane accumulating to a single source in the sky. Shaak dove to his left. A beam of lightning erupted from the clouds above and drove into the ground he sat on not a moment before.

He pulled his wand from his belt and scrambled to his feet, as another bolt of cackling energy fell from to earth.

Then came the hoof beats as loud as thunder, shaking the earth.

Shaak could sense the one responsible for the storm that continually struck the ground. He leveled his wand with his eye and fired a blast of flaming magic. The bolt burst into a centaur's chest, knocking it onto its back. From behind the blood elf came blasts of shadow and nature arcane. Before him, an army of centaurs came charging.

In his past life, when he still served the Alliance, he had seen rival armies attack in two techniques. The first was a method was soldiers charging forth in small groups, like waves that hit the beach's shore. The other attack had no lulls between waves. The attack is a single wave, a flood of ravenous soldiers who have no value for their own life.

The centaurs employ the latter method, a single tsunami of hooves and battle axes, and that taste of nature's arcane.

Shaak prepared for a long fight.


	18. Chapter 18

**As much as I would love to say you can expect a new chapter next Tuesday, that just isn't the case. I'm going on vacation for about a week, and won't have access to the internet until August 16. I am sorry in advance for the delay, but I will post the next chapter once I can. As always, enjoy and reviews are welcome.**

Chapter 18

Nessus's forelegs bent so he could touch the pool of blood at his hooves. The source of the crimson that contrasted Desolace's otherwise beige landscape laid a few strides away. When Nessus had released the elastic wire of his bow, and allowed the arrow to soar, he was careful to merely wound his opponent. The bolt had entered through the other centaur's liver.

"That hurts, doesn't it?" Nessus asked his fallen cousin, authentic sympathy in his voice. "That arrow is drenched in a special poison. Your death will come, but it is you who will decide how quickly."

The fallen centaur looked up at the archer. "Why does the Baneblood tribe contend so against us? Under the leadership of Magnus, we could rule these land all those who inhabit it," he remarked weakly.

"Magnus has broken our noble traditions, he has made pacts with dark forces."

"Magnus is a visionary," snapped the wounded centaur but a violent cough took hold of him and he could say no more.

"Your time is near," explained Nessus. "Please, with you dying breath redeem yourself in the eyes of our ancestors."

"It is not I who have shamed them," the wounded centaur spat, a wad of blood and saliva landing just before the archer's hooves.

"Then I shall show you no mercy," Nessus shrugged; rising, turning, and trotting away. He'd made three strides before his wounded cousin called out, pleaded for him to stop.

"You know where Magnus is," the dying centaur said. "But I tell you this. Any union the Baneblood clan hoped for with the Horde will be destroyed by morning. An elite group of my tribe will slay the ambassadors."

"Why do you speak of this?" Nessus asked suspiciously.

The wounded centaur managed a weak smile. "Because there is nothing you can do to stop it."

Nessus loaded his bow, pulled the elastic wire to his bare chest and took aim. The other centaur died laughing.

---

Eck spun his staff above his head with the grace reserved for those who are not limited by living limitations. He twisted the shaft around his body, before swinging it into a centaur's forelegs, breaking the appendage at the knee. The centaur roared in pain as its huge body fell into dust. Once more Eck spun his staff, before brining it down onto the centaur's neck, crushing the windpipe.

Behind the priest, another of the centaurs came, a broad axe lifted above his head. But before the cold steel could cut down the undead life, a burly grey tauren plowed into the centaur. Taff roared as he swung his maul into another centaur's chest, while he lifted his shield to parry a different assault. He spun, both mace and guard extended arms length as to strike the opponents that surrounded him.

Seeing the power in his attacks, Eck backed out of the center conflict and began to recite the words to a rejuvenating spell. Taff began to glow with holy light, the priest's magic rejuvenating his muscles, allowing him to continue.

Shaak too stayed on the outside of the fray; blindly summoning bursts of fire as to incinerate his foe. The creatures called out in a strange tongue, and a few abandoned the center of the battle to attack the blood elf and undead. Shaak threw himself before Eck, who was to focused on his spells to retaliate. The blood elf extended both hands forward and summoned the flames. The centaurs cried out as their bare skin began to blister, furred lower bodies caught fire and bones incinerated to ash.


	19. Chapter 19

**Before I post this next chapter, I would like to tell you why it is late. I was on a cruise with my family, on a Carnival Legend ship. One of the days, I was in the arcade playing House of the Dead 4. So I'm playing, shooting zombies, playing. It took a little over forty-five minutes and twenty dollars, but I beat the game. Once beat the game I watched the end credits. I turn around, and there are like ten kids watching me while I was playing. At first I thought they believed I was a god, so I told one to go get me a soda. When I didn't I turned and walked away. Okay, I hope you enjoyed the story, now on with the chapter.**

Chapter 19

Nessus's lungs burned, fatigue bit at his four legs, but he refused to stop, for the air was ingrained with the foul, corrupt scents of his cousins.

Coming over a hill, he saw them: a part of his fellow centaurs had surrounded a small group of the Horde's forces. Strange, however, was that dozens of centaurs had already fallen. The thirsty ground gorged itself on the blood, the thought made Nessus shutter. But these weren't his cousins, his clan mates, anymore. They were dark, corrupted shells of their former selves. They were attempting to bring the Horde's warriors to Desolace, in some blind gambit for world domination. Nessus grinded his teeth as he strung his bow and plucked an arrow from his quiver. He pulled the elastic wire to his chest and released it. Far away, a centaur fell.

---

The sound of battle cries and clanging steel echoed into the night, took hold of the winds so they may travel to distant lands. Taff was fighting as if a demon had taken hold of his body and mind. Eck, who had met the tauren when the Forsaken first joined with the Horde, had never seen such anger burn inside the grey bull. Every swing of his mace and stomp of his hoof maimed the ever-thinning herd of centaurs. Every attack crippled or killed an opponent, there seemed no attempt to merely incapacitate.

Despite this valiant effort, Taff was but one being against a small armada. He received wounds faster than Eck could heal them. It was taking all of Shaak to keep the centaur casters at bay; magical flames burned and battled bolts of thunder that rained down from sky.

It was only when a swarm of arrows descended from the sky that the battle could be won. Bolts found their way to the centaur's head or heart or back or belly. Taff continued his own savage assault, and a sudden burst of fire incinerated the centaur casters.

At last, they lay dead. Exhausted, the trio collapsed to the ground, each drained of their strength and mana.

"Everyone alright?" Taff growled.

"Yes," hissed Eck, standing and leaning on his staff.

Shaak gave a weak grunt. It was rare for him to use such a magnitude of his magic. He had "crashed" and was vulnerably tired; barely able to life his wand.

"Where was that cover fire coming from?" the tauren asked.

"From him," Eck said, forcing himself to enter a battle stance; his wand in his dominant hand and his staff on his left. Taff noticed the lone centaur that was fast approaching.

Tired as he was, Shaak was only able to lift his head. He watched with an open mouth as Taff stood, shakily standing on his hooves, and stirred his hands. Electricity began to cackle over grey fur. Lifting both hands, he released the bolt at the quickly approaching figure.

The centaur dodged to his side, the swirling mass of cackling power dissipated harmlessly in the air.

Exhausted, Taff fell to one knee, but still summoned the bolt of power. Eck now joined in the assault, struggling to release blasts of shadow. Yet each time the centaur gracefully dodged; four hooves moving with perfect evasive rhythm.

"Stop," shouted the centaur, lifting both hands in the air as a sign of peace. "I mean you no harm." To emphasize this he took the battle axe and bow from his back and threw them to the ground. At a slower place, he continued to advance.

Though Eck saw something, perhaps sincerity in the centaur's voice, Taff heard nothing but lies. He forced himself up and blasted the lightning from his pawn, but his muscles gave out and he collapsed to the ground; a large cloud of dust erupting from the ground.

"I mean you no harm," repeated the centaur. "If I did, I could easily have sniped you when you were engaged with my cousins."

"Then what are you doing here?" Eck asked. The undead slowly made his way to the fallen bull and, holding his wand level in his left hand, began a healing spell. It was clear to Shaak he was struggling to keep his wand level.

"We are the rebels that requested assistance from the great Warchief Thrall. You the ambassadors, correct? Other clans have made pacts with the Burning Legion. We require the Horde's assistance, if we are to continue resistance."

Eck lowered his wand slowly, but continued channeling magic. "Our orders are to keep the peace."

"Peace is lost," the centaur said. "There is only war on these planes."

"It is also strange that our superiors would not mention your…race," Eck said suspiciously.

The centaur bowed his head. "Perhaps they feared you and your team would refuse the mission," he said. "My kind do not have a respectable history. But your Warchief has condoned cooperation. If I may reach into my side-pouch and retrieve the letter Sir Thrall sent _my_ superiors."

"Do it," said Eck, "slowly."

The centaur nodded and carefully removed a folded paper from his side. He handed it to the Forsaken, who looked it over with intent eyes. "This is the official emblem of the Horde," he noted. "These all seem official. So either this is an extremely elaborate rouse or you speak the truth. I sense no lies in your voice." Eck straightened his posture and saluted. "I am Special Operations Sub Commander Jonathon Eck. This is Special Operations Commander Taff Wolfhoof and Private Shaak'tilander Sungrass. On behalf of the New Horde, we will aid you and yours."


	20. Chapter 20

**A rather short chapter, sorry I didn't have more to say. I'm trying to take this story slowly, since a problem I've had in the past was going to fast, then the story kind of falls apart. As always, thank you my loyal fans and welcome newcomers. The next chapter will be up Tuesday.**

Chapter 20

The Baneblood tribe, though under attack almost daily, still managed to hold a decent amount of territories within Desolace. This was due to an ingenious use of the region's rocky landscape. When first claiming their lands, the clan's elders established their primary settlements at the end of a deep ravine surrounded by the tallest cliffs of the land. The only access was in the form of a narrow dried gorge.

Despite the vast number of centaurs that had succumb to the Burning Legion's dark embrace, they were unable to overwhelm the comparatively small Banebloods. Daily, the strongest fighters of the rebel centaurs met those that were once their cousins and fought off the savage assaults. So far, the defenses had held.

Eck made careful note of these facts. Should this prove indeed to be a trap, even the smallest of facts could prove vital.

The undead pulled on the reigns so his steed slowed its pace. It came to a trot beside the kodo that carried the still unconscious tauren shaman. Slowly, almost hesitant at any show of affection, Eck extended his hand and brushed his bones through the coarse fur of Taff's neck, moved his fingers up to the bull's crown and along his horns.

"Commander Eck," called a voice behind him, and the priest immediately retracted his hand.

"Yes Commander Nessus?" he asked.

"I would like to," the centaur started. "I would like to thank you for believing me."

"If you speak the truth, gratitude is unnecessary. If you lie, it is insincere."

"How is your tauren friend?" Nessus asked, as if wanting to change the subject.

"Tired and on the brink of death, as always. He and I are part of the Special Forces; Taff has endured worse in his lifetime. Never the less, how much longer to your village."

"A while," the centaur said, then thought to himself. "Why do you hide your feelings for the tauren."

"What do you mean?" Eck asked, glowing eyes slanting in an outward show of suspicion.

"You care for him, very much, as if he were one of your clan. Last night, you sooner healed him than yourself, though you were both dancing on the brink of exhaustion and death."

"Emotions have no place on the battlefield. I healed Taff because he is my superior officer, and he was hurt worse than I."

"I don't believe you," Nessus said boldly, and was that a hint of a smile that crept at the side of his mouth? "I have met soldiers like you, Sub-commander. Those who believe they must be of stone to work efficiently. Sometimes a judgment based on feeling is just as important. If you don't mind my asking, why do you care for the tauren?"

"You are a curious one, aren't you? If you must know," Eck paused. "If you must know, when the Forsaken were first accepted into the Horde, we were not trusted. We were hated, in fact. Thrall ordered integration, much the same was done with the blood elves, but we were not considered true members of the Horde. Taff, however, excepted me, despite what the others of the team thought. He treated me fairly, trusted me, and asked nothing of me that he wouldn't do himself. He has saved me, many times, and I have saved him. That is how we work."

Eck's hand glowed as he transferred what little rejuvenating strength he could give. "How else is there to live?"


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The grey bull awoke to the taste of bile creeping up his throat and the dry heat of Desolace, so like the land he was born in. His brain pounded savagely in his skull, his bones were sore and fur singed, and his chest was bandaged from neck to navel.

Taff rubbed his head tenderly as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the tent he lay in. He could find no trace of his comrades, though the unique odor of the undead lingered in the air. Taff found his under clothing, armor, and weapons propped against a nearby wall. After fully dressing, he was going to venture outside, when he was visited by Eck.

"What happened," the tauren asked groggily. He was still weak and found it difficult to stand.

Eck thought to himself. "Well, we were engaged in that battle with the Shadowtouch tribe, you're good up to there."

"Shadowtouch?" Taff asked.

"The centaurs. They were of the Shadowtouch tribe. The other centaur, Nessus of the Baneblood clan, is the one who saved us."

"He didn't save us," Taff muttered. "He was one of the assassins."

"No, Nessus is of the Baneblood, one of the tribes who still resist the Burning Legion."

Taff's head spun in confusion. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked. "Just give me the condensed version."

"The troops we are supposed to aid are in fact the Baneblood tribe. Several rival tribes have joined with the Burning Legion, who has a strong foothold in these lands. Our mission is to eradicate the demons, and all those who have affiliated themselves with them."

"So we get to kill the centaurs?" he asked.

Eck examined the grey bull closely. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't kill," he started. "Not unless you have to. But there's something wrong with you, isn't there."

"Why don't you just read my thoughts?" Taff snarled. "Don't think I am ignorant to why you first joined our team. The Dark Lady desired a mole in the Horde's elite forces, did she not?"

Eck's eyes grew wide. "So you knew all along?"

"I was suspicious of the undead, as most all the Horde was at first."

The undead gave the closest to a laugh that he ever gave. "You are right, Taff. I was put on your team as an agent, to learn of your plans and read your thoughts. But I can't read your mind, Taff. Something about you, either you are too strong, or those spirits you commune with protect you."

"Then until you can read my thoughts, my past will remain my own."

The grey bull stormed through the tent, extended a hand to pardon the animal skin that served as a door, and stopped.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "My remarks were unnecessary."

"I have told you about my life as a human, about how I succumb to and served the Scourge, and how I joined the Forsaken. It was not an easy thing to do, but something necessary." He leaned on his staff as if in deep thought. "But you keep your own secrets; from me, from Cerberus and Aloos, even from Lunn."

"Do you wish to know my past?" Taff asked.

"I believe it would be good."

"The ancestors do not allow my thoughts to be read, but I may tell you."

Eck lowered to the ground and folded his legs beneath him. He still held his staff close.

Slowly, the tauren began.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"I was born on the planes of what are now called the Barrens, born into the Wolfhoof tribe. My mother, I don't have many memories of her in life, but she still communes with me through the spirits. She was the lead shaman of the tribe, and so strong enough to manifest in this realm. My father, I don't remember him well. He is not strong enough to speak with me.

"I think I also had a sister and brother, but I cannot recall for sure. My mother does not speak of them, if they even existed.

"I was still young at the time, still very young when the centaurs came upon us. One thing I will never forget, is the sound.

"It started as a low thud that echoed across the barren fields. I thought it was simply a herd of kodo, wandering deep into our lands. But, it grew louder and louder, until the rocks bounced on the soil." He paused. Words were coming easier, now that he was speaking.

"I can remember one of the elders shouting 'centaurs' and another screaming 'raid'. The other children and I had been taught what to do in such a situation, and immediately we rushed to the safety of our tents. Outside, we could hear the battle as it raged. All the sounds of combat: the screams of mothers, the cries of warriors, the clanging of steel or the ripping and rending of flesh. Soldiers falling on either side, and the cries of civilians that are inevitably caught between two opposing sides.

"Needless to say, that day, the centaurs won, though in the worst sense of the word. They hadn't come to colonize or dominate, they came with the single intention to destroy. To ravage the lands I lived. To burn, to pillage, and to rape what they could find."

Taff shifted his eyes about the small, stuffy tent. Words came easier than he expected, it was strangely easy, even satisfying to continue.

"When they finished with our warriors and women, they began to look for us. I was just a calf then, hiding with the others. The centaurs set fire to the tents to smoke us out. My lungs burned and I blindly ran into the open. The centaurs threw a net over me and bound me to the ground.

"With out the adults, we were helpless. We'd only begun our training in the arts of warfare, we didn't stand a chance against an army of armed monsters.

"They killed most of us that day in the hot Barrens sun. They cut open some of our throat like the humans do pigs. I guess that's how the centaurs saw us, as nothing more than livestock.

"For a few others, the centaurs doused the calves in alcohol and set fire to them. I can still remember the screams, the smell of burning skin and hair that wafted over the planes.

"I was taken as a slave to the centaurs. They'd of killed me if I didn't do what they asked of me." Taff almost choked on his words, but caught himself. "Its amazing what you can do to survive," he shivered.

"I-I'm sorry," the undead said.

"After many years of servitude, I was able to escape," the tauren continued. "When the centaurs could find no tauren to kill, they turned on each other. One day, the clan that held me captive where engaged in a massive battle. I fled in the confusion."

"Taff," Eck stuttered. "By the Dark Lady, Taff," he said, shaking his head. "I-I didn't know."

"Well now you do," the tauren remarked, with a mixture of distress and acid lacing his voice.

"These aren't the same centaurs though," Eck offered.

"They are centaurs," he growled. "And mark my words, if they didn't need us, they'd do the same."

"Do you remember when we worked with that Alliance squad in secret, about two years ago?"

The tauren nodded.

"We worked with that human, and it made my skin crawl. I wanted nothing more than to kill that human, rip her flesh from her bones for what her kind did to Elizabeth and I. But I didn't, because of my loyalties to the Dark Lady, the Horde, and the team. I didn't allow my personal hatreds to compromise the mission."

The undead rose and made his way out of the tent. He turned back to the grey bull just before he left the tent. "I won't blame you if you leave. Its nearly impossible to swallow detest that has boiled inside of one for decades. But if you stay, I hope your feelings won't compromise the mission."

With that, he disappeared.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Have you any idea who is leading the demonic armies?" Eck asked, casually seated in the wide interior of one of the settlements main tents.

"Yes, a centaur called Magnus," Nessus responded.

"Anything about him?" the undead questioned.

Nessus sighed. "Magnus was once a visionary, not unlike Thrall of the orcs, Windrunner of the Forsaken, or Bloodhoof of the tauren. Where is the good commander, anyway? Will he not like to hear this?"

"Taff would prefer to be alone, for a time," Eck explained.

"Unhappy with the current arrangement no doubt, our cousins of Kalmidor haven't had a peaceful relationship with the tauren."

The undead nodded solemnly. "Please, continue about Magnus."

"Magnus was once a poetic visionary, a born leader. He dreamed of uniting the centaurs under one flag. Alone we are scattered, warring tribes. Together we would be a people. His thirst was not for power though. He wanted a better life for all his cousins. Now we are nothing but savages, but if we had a strong leader, we could follow in the footsteps of so many other scarred races.

"Magnus worked for many years to try to unite the warring tribes. And for many years, he tried with out success. Soon, he came to believe that with power, he may have the might to bring us all together. He made a pact with the Burning Legion, and so his corruption began.

"Its ironic, really. He's succeeded in what he longed to do. Dozens of tribes now follow him blindly, suckled on the demonic forces and grow more corrupt each day. If they continue to grow in power, they may grow too large to stop."

"How have you not succumb to the demons?" Eck asked.

"I cannot say for sure," Nessus explained. "The elders credit our blood. When the Burning Legion corrupts, the victims is tainted by an unspeakable darkness, a demon's blood. But we do not have blood like our cousins. The crimson in our veins carries with it a very potent poison. Legend says that our blood was given this toxin by the gods, when we were still young as a race. It was a defense against those that would see us as prey. Why other centaurs are not plagued, I cannot say, but it explains why the Burning Legion finds difficulty corrupting us."

"Interesting," Eck mussed.

"And that is the story. Magnus has claimed every tribe but ours, his army is vast. Our defenses cannot hold."

"Do you know where this Magnus resides?"

"Yes."

"Then why not kill him. Cut off the head, so to speak?"

"The thought has, of course, passed the elder's lips. But he resides many miles from here, a three day travel at least, deep in the mountains. Further, the mountains are occupied by hundreds, if not thousands, of centaurs that will blindly throw their life away for him. It would take at least twice our current forces to make it to Magnus. If we were to do that, who would guard this city against his daily raids. We would slay the beast, at the cost of our lands, our families."

"Not necessarily," Eck said. Undead eyes fixated on the blood elf, Shaak'tilander, who sat a few steps away. "Are you familiar with powers of mages, Nessus?"

"I cannot say I am," the centaur confessed.

"Shaak has a very interesting power. He may open portals that will instantly transport a subject from one place to another. The Alliance and the Horde take certain precautions to prevent a rival mage from teleporting deep into their capital cities, but I doubt that Magnus would have the same defenses."

Nessus gasped. "How many can be transported."

Shaak spoke up. "I can sustain the portal for four, I'm not as strong as some others. I would also have to go with you, lest you be stranded in the middle of Magnus's stronghold."

"I would go with you as well," Eck said.

"Then I and my best warrior…"

"No," said a sharp, deep voice. Taff stepped into the tent. "As is my duty to the Horde, I shall aid you in any way I can."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Lunn bit her lip as she knocked on the wooden door. "Aloos?" she asked. "Aloos are you home?" She held up a large bottle. "I brought booze."

Slowly, the door opened to reveal the slim, blue skinned troll Today, Aloos was dressed in a pair of leather pants and a long sleeved, black silk shirt. His crimson red hair was tied in a ponytail, as usual, and a patch covered the empty socket that had once held his left eye.

"Were da fuck 'ave ye been, mon. 'aven't seen ye in a long while. And wat da fuck are ye wearin?" he asked in an amused tone.

The night elf was dressed in a baggy gown and overcoat. A hood tied down her elongated ears and hair. "Can I come in?" she asked.

"Yeah mon," he responded, stepping aside.

The interior of the home was warm, reminiscent of the troll's homelands no doubt. There were also delicious smells that wafted through the hallways. Few would believe that Aloos held any skill in the culinary arts. Those that tasted his roast lion chops would testify to his talents, however.

"What kinda booze ye got?" he asked eagerly.

Lunn handed him the bottle.

"Goblin rum, mon? Dis shit is good. Ye want some?"

"No."

Aloos shrugged. "More for me," he chuckled, breaking off the top and pouring a big gulp into his awaiting mouth. More than a little dribbled out of his mouth and down to his shirt.

"I would enjoy some of your tea though," Lunn said softly.

Aloos took another gulp. "Sure mon." And he walked into the kitchen. "So what ye want?" he called out from the other room. "Ye be missin Taff?"

"Actually, there's something I have to tell you," she said.

"Is dis like a chic problem? Cause I don't do chic problems. Go talk to Lizzie if dat your problem."

Lunn slowly undid the tying of her hood. "Well, the way I figure it, you're the only one who can't hate me anymore than you already do."

"Oh, don't feel bad mon. I don't like any of ye elves unless ye in mi bed. And ye 'ave ye damn morals." The troll returned from the kitchen laughing loudly. "Da tea will be done in a minute. What ye want ta say?"

The elf slipped out of the overcoat, then dropped her gown to the feet. Aloos's eye swelled in surprise. His mouth fell agape.

Lunn stroked her protruding stomach tenderly, her eyes filled with fear at what the troll would say next.

"What da fuck mon?" he asked. "How da fuck did dis 'appen? What da fuck 'appened?"

"About four months ago. When Cerberus was captured by that night elf," she started. "I was captured too."

"Yeah mon, I know," he said, his eyes transfixed, but not on her erotic areas. All he could see was her jutting gut.

"That night elf was my brother," she admitted. Words were hard. She had to swallow a sob down. "And he employed a dark troll who," she paused, "liked me."

Slow, ever so slow, Aloos approached the night elf. He stretched out a hand and touched her stomach. She recoiled for a moment, then moved closer to him. He opened his arms and allowed her to cry.

Somewhere far off, the teapot whistled.

---

"So what ye goanna do mon?" Aloos asked.

Lunn looked down at the tea, the warmth of the drink tingled her palms, and her gaze fell past the cup and to her protruding skin. She sipped the tea tenderly, but it tasted odd, different somehow. Her breasts were already swollen and soar. "I don't know."

"'ave ye told anyone?"

"No," she said quickly. "You're the only person that knows. I haven't even been able to tell Taff."

"Dat's good mon. Ye can't tell no one bout dis. Anyone finds out, and ye dead. 'alf breed babies aren't loved in any society."

"I know."

"Dis _is_ a dark troll's baby? A dark troll was da sire?"

Lunn nodded.

"No one can find out bout dis. Da Horde accepted ye as a defector, but dis ting will get ye killed."

"I know," she grunted, quaking in anger. A tear sparkled in the corner of her eye. "What would you do? If your sister got raped by an elf, and she had something growing inside of her, what would you tell her?"

Aloos thought for a long while, took a chug of the alcohol, then looked at Lunn. "I'd ask if she wants da baby. Cause if she didn't, dere are tings dat can be done. And if she did, dere be tings dat can be done too."

"And if she said yes? I mean, if she said she doesn't want to kill it?"

"Dere be places she could go. Places nobody could find 'er, places nobody ever looks. And, if she really wants da baby, den I would 'elp 'er."

"Aloos, if anyone finds out, you'll be put to death right alongside me."

The troll shrugged nonchalantly. "I 'ad a good run. Besides, nobody will find out. Ye go back ta ye house and keep layin low. And once Taff comes back, we leave."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

The centaurs of the Banblood tribe, decorated with rusted armor and the body paints of war, lined up for battle, as they had times before. Magnus's soldiers would come today, as they always did, and once more attempt to lay waste to the rebel forces. The radicals who still believed in the old ways of worshiping ancestors and eradicating demons.

The soldiers of the Baneblood tribe were eager for confrontation. Word of some secret plan, spearheaded by the ambassadors of the Horde, spread quickly. And though many of the centaurs were skeptical that the diplomats could fight to any decent extent, the tantalizing hope of an end to the civil war spurred them on.

---

From the time of his birth, Magnus was heralded as something special, due in part to his size. True, centaurs were naturally creatures of grand stature, but Magnus surpassed any who came before him. His charisma, diplomacy, and intelligence were also sources of awe, but it was his breathtaking dimensions that were immediately noticed.

When imbued with the dark, demonic magic of demon lords, he continued to expand. He now stood at a towering fifteen feet tall and at least seven feet wide. His weapon, if it could be called that, was a Morning Star maul roughly as large as a tauren.

And yet, despite Magnus's size, his throne room dwarfed him. The ceilings rose fifty feet high and had been decorated with images based on legend. At either side of Magnus's throne, two grand wooden pyres burned, kept ablaze with a simple spell by one of his shamans. The throne itself had been custom made to support the great centaur's vast dimension. It was lined with the pelts of the most dangerous creatures in all the lands. Even a tauren or two had offered their hides up.

Indeed, everything in the throne room was made to impress. Magnus knew the value of making a strong impression. Back when it was only him and his loyal subjects, he had gained the support of all the other warring tribes one by one. While some fell by due superior might, others could only be swayed through more diplomatic means. Though some still refused to see the truth, the Baneblood tribe came to mind, the insolent rebels would be taken care of soon enough.

"Guards," said Magnus, and the two sentries that stood at the doorway went into attention.

"Yes sir," they asked in perfect unison. They were good soldiers, loyal soldiers. Magnus was proud to have them.

"Fetch me the prisoner. I would like a few words with her."

Both centaurs nodded obedience, and one left the throne room. His four hooves clanged along the floor. He returned a short time later with a human female in tow. She was placed before the great centaur, the first guard knocked out her knees with his pole arm, forcing her into a bowing position.

"Leave us," Magnus ordered. The two sentries bowed again, before they hurried out of the throne room. He turned his attention back to his captive. "Feel like talking, little one?" he asked kindly.

The human spat a wad of phlegm at his hooves.

"Audacious little thing," Magnus muttered. His forelegs bent, as did his torso, to allow him to reach down and pluck the female up by her collar. He lifted her, higher and higher, up and up, until she was level with his face. "Do you wonder why I haven't killed you?" he asked.

The human spat again, but because she was held at arms length, it fell short of its target. Instead, the wad of venom landed in the fur that covered Magnus's lower body. He sneered as he dropped her to the ground. She managed to avoid injury by rolling along upon impact.

Magnus regained his composure. "I have kept you alive, because I intend to let you live. Once this poor business with the rebels is taken care of, I will need a gift of good faith to the Alliance. You will serve nicely. You see, little one, I'm not such a bad guy. And I believe my people and your people can do nicely together."

The human looked up defiantly at him. "The Alliance will never join with you. You worship demons. You slaughter your own kind because they hold different views and follow different beliefs."

"Really, little one, and your people do not? Besides, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The Horde, and the tauren, are a mutual threat to both our great unions."

The human had no response.

"Think about this, little one. Think about what I offer you and yours; an allegiance with me and mine. Sleep on it. Guards!" he called out, and they came in at once. "Take this one back to her cell."

The human was escorted off.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26_

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

If Snow Rendal had a copper coin for every time she had heard that clichéd remark, she would be able to buy that enchanted claymore she wanted so.

Rendal laughed. It was not something she did often, but for some strange reason it bubbled up in her guts, slithered into her throat, and burst from her lips. The centaur guard gave her a puzzled look.

It was almost a year ago she'd become a "Black Rose", an elite shadow operator on behalf of the Alliance. It was an unrewarding position, to accept it she had to fake a defection from her own government, and in the event of her capture by the Horde or any other rival organization, the Alliance would effectively disown her. Magnus wasn't aware of that little rule, which was why he kept her alive.

She was a prisoner of war. Having been captured while spying, Magnus had every right to order her execution. At least he could lock her in a dungeon and swallow the key. That was a troll idiom she used, which made her laugh a little harder.

Rather than the cells, Rendal was residing in a rather nice room. There was a large bed in the center of the area, which was large enough to compensate a normal sized centaur. There was a glowing stone hanging from the ceiling, which provided a satisfactory amount of light. But it was still a prison. A guard was stationed at her door at all times, even when she slept or changed her clothes. Needless to say, she hadn't done much of either in her time in captivity. There were also no windows, Rendal quickly lost track of time when in the confines of the room.

Magnus had said she'd be released once the business with the rebels was taken care of. That business was of coarse the slaughtering of those who opposed his rule.

"You follow a dictator, you know," she said to her guard.

"I follow a visionary," was the centaur's response.

"Same thing," she shrugged. "Every decent creature is ashamed of the ruler he, or she, follows."

"Then you are ashamed?"

"No," she answered sharply. "But then, I'm not a decent woman." She laughed again.

---

Summoning portals was far from a safe process. There were a great many risks involved. For one, there was always the peril something could go wrong with the spell, and the portal would open in the wrong place, such as under the ocean or the pits of a volcano. And even if it took one to the desired location, there was always the hazard you'd fall into an area populated with a hundred hostiles.

Shaak kept these fears to himself. He didn't want to show his fright before his comrades, he didn't want to show the weakness he was ashamed of.

They were approximately a mile away when Shaak sensed something in the air. It was a certain taste, different from the ones Taff and Eck excreted. He followed that bizarrely unique tang until he stumbled upon a dwarf and a gnome.

Instinctively, the blood elf drew his wand and began summoning flames that would incinerate the Alliance soldiers. Fire expelled from every poor of his skin, his robes would've burned away if not tailored to survive such a blaze. He paused when the tauren's heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. The fur on the great bull's wrist was instantly singed, but he seemed to take little notice.

Taff said, in common, "Bare you greetings, Commander Wonki and Commander Bracha."

"Bare you greetings," the gnome woman said in surprisingly fluid orcish.

"What is your presence?" the tauren asked.

"Assassination, as usual. A centaur has grown strong through a demon's pact. He may prove a threat to the Alliance."

"Magnus?"

"Yes. That is his name."

This time it was Eck who spoke. "The centaur is a danger to the Horde. We are here to neutralize that threat as well."

The gnome thought to herself. The dwarf woman instead reached behind her as to take hold of the rather large hammer on her back. It was in that instance that Shaak identified her armor, and a shiver ran up her spine. She was a paladin, one of the Alliance's zealots. Shaak prepared to take her down at a moment's notice, the slightest show of hostility on her behalf.

"Then I guess we're working together," the gnome squeaked.


	27. Chapter 27

**Wow, I cannot say how long I've been itching to write a fight scene. I imagine some of you feel the same way. This is the battle I've been promising: our favorite Horde vs. one very big centaur. Enjoy.**

_Chapter 27_

Slowly but surely, the cackling portal swelled and expanded. It took all of Shaak's focus, all the power he had ever learned, but once the portal could sustain itself the blood elf was able to look down at the gnome who'd aided him. Despite a stature of two feet, this one was clearly blessed with great power.

"Is it ready?" Taff asked.

"Yes," Shaak said. "But I don't know if this will work. I've never combined my magic with another's so that more can make the jump."

"It doesn't matter. This is our best chance," the bull said. "We go in teams of two, ten second intervals. Ready?"

They said yes in rough unison.

Taff and the paladin called Breach strode forward and leapt through the portal. It was ten eon long heartbeats before Nessus and Eck made the jump, leaving Shaak and Wonki alone.

"So you're one of those blood elves everyone made such a fuss over," she squeaked in a voice that immediately grated on Shaak's nerves. He was not particularly fond of gnomes as they utilized demons, same as his people, and yet no genocide had been initiated against them. "Let's see what you've got."

Shaak took his wand in his dominant hand and his rapier in the other. Holding his breath, he made the jump.

For a moment, he spun in nothingness. No sound, no sight, no weight to his being. "he pushed his feet to what he thought was down, and to his relief landed on something solid. He forced his way through the weightless, soundless darkness and towards the sounds of battle, the tastes of magic. Nature's magic, shadow magic. The magic of the light and the magic of the demons.

Shaak awakened to the intimacy of war. The sounds. The smells. The sight. It was a breathtaking sight. A centaur, infinitely taller and wider than anything he'd seen before, was engaged with Taff and Brecha. Their bravery was something spectaculuar. They scurried around the centaur's stomping hooves and swing Morning Star, striking at any opening in his defenses. They screamed and roared and swung their hammers and summoned their respective magic. If only the Alliance and Horde could unite as they did.

Away from the melee, Eck resited spell after spell to keep the tauren and the dwarf filled with vitality. He summoned shields to keep them safe from harm; the light forbid they be struck with the gargantuan club that swung through the air with savage fury. Wonki the gnome and an imp she had summonded threw blast after blast of demon arcane. Shaak quickly joined her, summoning flames that would singe and sear the touch. As for Nessus, he had taken to peppering Magnus with arrow after arrow. Most had little effect, but one found its mark in the humongous centaur's eye.

Magnus roared in pain. Bracha took this chance and swung his maul into one of the centaur's forelegs. Magnus swept his Morning Star down and hit the dwarf, who went flying across the battle field. Taff caught her, but the force she carried knocked him to the ground.

Magnus's wrathful gaze fell upon Nessus. He flung his Morning Star at his counsin, who seldom had time to duck for cover. The great centaur was upon the casters in a heartbeat. He took Eck and Shaak in a gigantic hand each and began to squeeze the life from them. For Wonki, he lifted a huge foot up and began to lower it, content to grind the gnome beneath a hoof.

There was no thought to what Shaak did next. In a flash, he heated the blade of his rapier and drove it into the grip that held him. Flesh succumb to the white hot metal as if it were butter. He was released, and when the blood elf landed, he darted beneath the centaur. Into Magnus's vulnerable underbelly, he released the largest fireball he could muster. This drove the centaur back, and saved Wonki and Eck from a painful death.

When a bolt of lightning struck his blind side, Magnus turned to the source. Taff held Bracha by her arm and threw her at the centaur. She gave a cry of dwarven bravery as she swung her hammer into Magnus's jaw, a strike that at last caused him to fall.

Nessus released a laced bolt into his demonic cousin's other eye, effectively blinding him. Magnus began to flail wildly, desperate to stand. Taff and Brach slipped between his flailing hind legs to reign blow down onto his horse like body. The casters did their part, throwing bolt after bolt at their foe.

At last, somewhere in that assault, Magnus drew his last breath, and found death.


	28. Chapter 28

_Chapter 28_

It was a time of great celebration for the Baneblood tribe. News of Magnus's death came when the soldier of the Horde rode back triumphantly. Their armor seared and damaged and their bodies weak, but they were alive, and the bloodthirsty dictator was not. Now the rebel centaurs could perhaps claim their corrupt cousins, bring them back to the old ways, the good ways, before the corruption.

An extravagant party was held with the soldiers of the Horde: the guests of honor. Shaak had grown accustomed to that title: soldier of the Horde. Warrior of the ideals of Thrall. Comrade of Taff and Eck.

Still, there was something that nagged at him persistently, one thing that just didn't click. Durring the festivities, he slipped beside and Taff, who was drinking down alcohol as if it was spring water. A little less than a year ago, when Shaak had stumbled into that cabin on that fateful night, he was terrified by the eight foot tall, muscle bound bull, but now he felt rather comfortable in his presence. "How could we work with the Alliance's forces?" the blood elf asked. "Such an act could be persecuted as treason."

The grey bull's deep laughter was audible even over the party drums. Several centaurs were dancing, and the sound of rhythmic crashing hooves was deafening. "Its true," he responded. "What we did was treason. We could be executed for the act, or at the least exiled from our lands. But that is only if it is made public.

"Eck, Aloos, Cerb and I have worked witht eh Alliance many times in the past, should we have the same objective. SWe simply do not tell our superiors, they do not tell theirs. All is right."

Shaak could have wondered about the morality of the practice, or if it was his duty to report such fraternizing with the enemy. Instead, he took small pride in the fact that Taff entrusted him with such an incriminating secret, just as he had that day they leveled the Scarlet stronghold.

The following day, the Horde soldiers loaded their mounts and began the long trip home.

---

Being both a troll and a rogue, Aloos had no concept of meditation, so he had no method to relieve the mental burden Lunn had put on him. There was something growing inside her tummy, some abomination, and it was his duty to the Horde to kill it. Kill the monsters, slay the demons, that's what he'd been taught since the time of his birth.

But Lunn was his friend. She had saved him almost a year ago, when she, Taff and Shaak raided the Scarlet Crusader's fortress. He'd surely of been torn apart by the frenzied Forsaken if not for the night elf's efforts. Trolls placed a strong emphasis on repaying blood debts.So, in short, Aloos was screwed. He was loyal to the Horde but indebted to Lunn.

Aloos had no concept of mediation in the sense of staying still, breathing deep and obtaining some sense of enlightenment. But traing had a way of clearing his mind. His "opponent" was a wooden dummy. The build was meant to simulate a human, the troll even went as far as to dress it in a Scarlet's armor. The Scarlet was dead, so Aloos doubted he minded.

Aloos was skilled in his craft, and when he trained, a crowd tended to form around him. The hand to hand combat jungle trolls learned as a children was quite amazing, filled with acrobatic evasions and wide spinning kicks. Aloos added swords into the equation, inflicting graceful nicks and cuts to open spots in the wooden dummy's armor.

When training was complete, Aloos felt much better. The crowd dissipated, save youthful blood elf. The troll sneered annoyed as Cynthana Sungrass came to his side.

"I don't get it," she said blatantly. "Why didn't you run the dummy through? Or cut off his head? Or his arm?"  
"Da slice and dice ain't about one wound, mon. Tink bout all da cuts and scrapes I made, and if da dummy bled like a human or one a ye elves. Rivers of blood mon."

"Oh," she said. "I don't get it. Why wouldn't you just impale it?"  
"Sometimes ye gots ta be creative when ye fight. If da armors too thick, ye gots ta find the weak spots and use those."

The blood elf youth seemed to be satisfied with this, or perhaps she was just bored, as she scurried away. By now, the mental strain had returned, so Aloos went off to get drunk.

---

It was late in the night that Taff, Shaak, and Eck rode into Brill. It had been a long trip, a long mission, and they were tired. They each broke to their loved ones: the blood elf's younger sister, the Forsaken's wife, and the tauren's mate.

Taff made his way shakily to his home. Tommorow he'd report on the events of Desolace. Tommrow he'd formally address his superiors. Tommorow he'd lie about his involvement with the Alliance. But tonight, he'd sleep in his own warm bed with the elf he hadn't seen in far too long.

In the bedroom he found Lunn awake, as she was nocturnal. He could sense something was amiss, even before she displayed her protruding stomach and explained what had happened.

---

It was the following day, Taff sat anxiously in the office of Executioner Zygand: his closest superior.

"I see the mission in Desolace went well?" the bureaucratic undead said.

"I see you got a new desk," the bull quipped. "Yes sir. The threat was neutralized, and we can expect good relationships with the Baneblood tribe from this point on. Private Shaak'tilander Sungrass also proved himself as an intelligent and capable agent. In light of this, I would like to request a leave of absence. Commander Pantherfoot and I would like some time away from the war. With the blood elves now reinforcing your ranks as a whole, it shouldn't be too much of a problem."  
The exuctutioner gave a sigh of passive interest. "Granted. Both of you are to return in two months sharp."

"Yes sir."

---

Taff finished loading his faithful kodo with the necessary supplies, before hoisting himself up to the saddle. By this time, Lunn was seven months pregnant, and her belly had swelled to an obtrusive size. She dressed in a long, loose fitting black dress for concealment, as well as baggy jacket.

Their closest comrades saw the two off: Cerberus, Aloos, Jonathon and Elizabeth Eck. Even Shaak wished his one time commander well. They were all ignorant to the real reason the tauren and elf were leaving, save Aloos, would never tell. Though Taff would have preferred the night elf to ride with him, she insisted on independence, and was carried away from the town of Brill on her faithful night saber.

Lunn cringed. It was subtle, but Taff took notice. "What's wrong?" he asked.

She smiled warmly in response. "Nothing. The baby just kicked."

**Well, that's it. The last chapter in this particular story. Sorry if this ending kinda snuck up on y'all, but it shouldn't feel like a real conclusion. I don't want the world I've created to die. I just need some time off to pursue other works, I would like to post a Halo fic I've been working on, and I've also got some original works I've been neglecting. What I would like to do next in terms of Warcraft is write a story that follows the Alliance characters I've introduced: (Rendal, Bracha, and Wonki). But don't get your hopes up, it'll be a while before I make anything permanent. I would like to thank everyone who gave a review, since you reminded me I have fans and kept me going. Well, good night folks, its been fun.**


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